THE PROBLEM WITH EXCELSIOR
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Why do we have such trouble with reality?
Humanity with its head in the clouds
dreams up magic. Dreams up alchemy,
time travel, necromancy. Humanity
tinkers with reality, improves it to impossibility;
it's faces lifted, shouting: "Excelsior!" What joy.
A joy like a mask - hiding the sorrow,
but thickening it with shadow.
Here this is the problem we intrinsically know:
you can make a dead body from a living one
but you can't make something
living from something dead.
I suppose that's why we've put words
to the pain of life when we're after -
after something, something gone.
We call it grief, we call it "letting go", moving on
as if that isn't what we've been doing all along,
each day a new day, a new move, even
if it looks like we're dragging our feet, drowning
ourselves in the past. Life is moving.
You can't live and not go, forward or upward -
there isn't any other way. So
humanity with its head in the clouds
invented necromancy, invented magic
because we have to move on
but we want so badly to stay.
STAI LEGGENDO
Ghosts Lost & Winter Found
Poesiawhen you steal all that's evil and bury it underground: these are our ghosts lost and this is our winter found. collected poems from 2017 [ © 2017 by shaye ]
