faith cradled in mystery,
risks rarely taken,
danger in every glance.
each loop taut, each flaw locked in.
Heroes with fractured edges,
grasping at impulses that slipped away.
the burn of a radical spark.
One particle, one lone idea
fixed in place, dim and still.
yet habit becomes transcendence,
we, stoned sapiens, reaching beyond
toward something worthy of the climb.
we follow paths unseen but somehow known,
fists grasping at phantom truths,
loose threads trailing from tattered cuffs.
each triumph, a loosening seam—
as we lean into our shifting dawns,
chasing shadows in stubborn daylight.
we spiral upward, tracing paths
of ancestors could only dream of as they
gazed in reverence at the stars, then down at dust.
Be well and make the most of this day.
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Poetry should move us, it should change us, it should glitch our brains, shift our moods to another frequency. Poetry should evoke feelings of melancholy, whimsy, it should remind us what it feels like to be in love, or cause us to think about something in a completely different way. I view poetry, and all art really, as a temporary and fragile bridge between our world and a more pure and refined one. This is a world we could bring into creation if enough of us believed in it. This book is ephemera, destined to end up forgotten, lingering on some dusty shelf or tucked away in a dark attic. Yet the words, they will live on in memory. I hope these words become a part of you, bubble up into your memory when you least expect them to and make you feel a little more alive.
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I think the last part of this is my favorite. I like the idea of people from a long time ago looking at the world today and not even knowing what they are looking at. The sky might be the same and the dirt, but everything else is so different.
Thanks my friend! Maybe staring at the sky and opening their imagination was the first rung in their ladder?
Maybe! Right now it doesn't feel like we have climbed much of anywhere though!
In some ways, no, but in many other ways yes. That's the frustrating thing about humanity...those pesky blind spots.
What a wonderful poem! Every line feels like a thread connecting us to past failures and future hopes.🙏
Thank you!
So touching poem. I love especially the part where you wrote "With wordless clarity, we wove our strands", in just few words you made me think about the best relationships I had/have in my life. I agree, "Poetry should move us". ❤️
Thank you, Silvia! I'm glad you felt that connection with this piece! Poetry doesn't seem to get as much engagement on this platform as it used to. It's good to know some still enjoying it.
The universe is made of energies, low and high. The universe is energetic and the energy is within us. Sometimes we spend our lives “longing for the paradise” from which we were thrown out, only to realize that we could have made our own paradise. We dwell so much on the falls that we forget the peaks we have reached. But more importantly, we sometimes forget what our eyes have seen that were surely only dreams of our ancestors. We are here, on this side of the universe, so let's make the experience wonderful. Nice Saturday, my friend. Hugs
Very well said, Nancy! It's so easy to long for the past but the past wasn't as good as we imagined it to be. Life is only fully enjoyed when we can focus on the present and make the most of this moment in time. I hope you have a wonderful weekend!
I have always said that poems are expressions of knowledge that use aesthetics to manifest themselves. Beautifully written truths. And here, you have achieved it to perfection. Well, in appearance!
Greetings
I appreciate it!
#hive #posh
Beautiful poetry, Eric. The photo of the sun that you show is also very beautiful. Thank you, Eric.
Thank you Eliana!