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Rated: E · Poetry · Philosophy · #2068789
Life for today, hope for tomorrow.

Our memories are companionways spanning ebon waters with mocking waves.
I am as dense as anger, as sparse as jocularity, focused one moment,
ambivalent the next.  Strength is regained but then filched by the
bony hands of pickpockets on life’s long pathways to pain.

Summoning the past, cavalier-like, episodes of bivouacs and banjos, base camps
and banal acts.  I can roam these streets in surgical precision, or relax in
leather seats while cruising the ebbing urban light, thinking of the
past as broken shards of heavy glass.

I am the meekest reindeer to have ever inhabited the Earth; I am as quick
as a furlong of luck; I am still and balanced as ownership is debated,
and as life’s eye winks at what was.

I am as heavy as granite beneath the fist of gravity, as light
as Yuletide mirth, as worn as a mechanics overalls, as new as
spring rain, as inward as infection, and as outward as an ecdysiast.

I am as shy as daybreak, as bold as river current, as steep as sass, as flat
as irrigation, as detailed as gossip and as blank as a blizzard.

I am curled in words reaching for paragraphs, I am force without instinct,
I am optimism at noon.  I am the tactics of chess, the filament’s arc,
the warrior’s exhaustion.  I am as cold as a cliff, as warm as
a month, as tall as hope, and as short as a sneeze. 

I am as excited
as crisis, as ambivalent
as substitution, as delighted
as conversation, and as dejected
as dilapidation.  I am the flurry of divorce
and the stalwart steadiness of reconciliation.

I am the blade of improvement and the maze of ruin, the prong of direction
and the rag of stupor.  I am as crisp as invention and as sheer as a stocking.
I am as easy as a wish and as ominous as a gun, as damp as a morning
mushroom and as dry as a robot’s response.

I am the sparkling of tinsel and the dullness of discard, the warmth of a wreath
and the chill of a gate.  I am the spectacle of starlight as well as the day-to-day
of routine, the energy of progress and the stifling of isolation.

I am the cohesiveness of reason and the brittleness of reputation, the irony of
overkill and the practicality of motivation.  I am as confining as prejudice
and as revealing as the fossil record;  I am the wavering of weather and
the tenacity of species, the darkness of death and the radiance of birth.
And because of all that, the chains pull back and the light shines on.
I am merely today, with my back up against yesterday,
and my arms around tomorrow.

40 Lines
Writer’s Cramp


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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2068789