Living Poetry
Cleaning out some of my old stuff, I found one of my old journals. And in it, I found poetry. Since poetry is often associated with romanticism, I wanted to address the issue — as an example of what not to do.
Anything can be romantic in the right context, but in general, writing poetry isn’t. It’s an excuse to not take action. And true romanticism is about showing your love, pursuing your deepest longing. Perhaps if your name is Edgar A. Poe, it’s different, and you can get away with it. But not me.
Rhyme is important to poetry; it adds meaning and flow. But if I had to boil poetry down to a single thing, it would be rhythm. So why write poetry, when you can live it? Look at it from the receiving end. Meaning, flow, rhythm. Would you rather receive poetry in words, or be a part of living poetry? Written poetry is just a shadow of the real thing.
That said, here is something I wrote years ago while lamenting over my infatuation for a girl. Thank god those days of internal conflict are over. How silly of me to think I might actually give this to her! To free myself from that, I’m giving this to the world, and it can never be taken back.
I gaze upon
the moonlight hour
flowing through me
is passion’s power
rocking within me
from side to side
a tug of war between
sides collide
a raging conflict
within my mind
restless nerves is
all you’ll find
That is when I decided
— no more fear.
I must stand up for
what I hold dear
Now I see my own
reflection
in contrast to the
world’s perfection
seeing through glasses
colored pink
I can barely move
or even think
All I do is dream
away
all through the night
and all through the day
flowers falling in the
sky
the heavens’ blessings
are not shy
visions of angels lighting
the way
their white wings wisping
the water sleigh
all I hear is verse
and rhyme
whose melody echoes
till the end of time
and all the beauty
that I see
flows from you
and into me
