For Luis Benitez
Do you realize who I am?
That is not possible.
I am less me today
than I was yesterday,
I am unraveling like
a badly thought out story.
I am now that piece of
sadistic humor -
the joke time
has told my birth.
Friday night came and went.
Nobody noticed poets;
they sang, they danced,
they romanced ten pinters;
nobody will see
yesterday without
some burden of regret –
fewer still
will understand
what was missed.
If I am different today
is that better or worse?
Is this more of who I am
or less?
Why does pain
and the chance for
happiness have
an inverse relationship?
What can my aging mom -
captain of the ghost ship
full of friends and relatives
only she remembers -
hope for with
tomorrow’s dawn?
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8 comments:
I like the mysteries in this.
Thanks Aurora! There are a lot of mysteries to write about. Luis Benitez, the Argentinian poet, has a chap book all about that subject which I have been enjoying very much. Glad you liked this and thanks for the great comment!
The eternal quest of self with no answers in sight..
Thanks GST! Yes, the quest in a finite framework. We are not a fixture of time, we are the ticking of a wind-up clock that has been se aside. Thanks for the comment, my sweet!
We do unravel strip by strip, year after year. Excellent poem Russell!!
Thanks Pat! This question of time is a huge area for speculation. Glad you enjoyed this and thanks for the great comment!
I would like to point out at this point I am tightly knotted and will not under any circumstances unravel-seriously a lovely poem
Thanks Sue! I'm glad you pointed that out, I'm glad there's no danger. Seriously, thanks for the great comment.
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