23 August 2009

Talking poetry

It nearly was that my previous post was my last post. Why? A truth once flamed in my breast, afore it paraded through my mind undressed: my best expression of self will only ever need two sentences.

I reap and I sow,
I sow and I reap.
My joy is full of troubles,
My trouble is full of joys.

I remain really satisfied with this poem. Nothing is beyond scope. It is a eulogium to experience and an encomium to existence. Concise, precise, surmise, but tenaciously tenable. Hear and see here my adamantine face.

The truth is simple and anything else is lies.

In the realms of personal epic, significant revelations scar the landscape of our being and change it permanently. Amidst the sturm und drang, new roads fill in the blank pages of life's street directory. Gone is the necessity to travel familiar routes of behaviour when new ways open to us. But the practice of change is no pleasantry. Either we have made the familiar easy or the familiar has made easy of us. In the kingdom of infinite possibility, cities of wonder crumble for lack of the bold. We, the pusillanimous, live in a death-hold.

My heart is calling for a new melody:
A song unknown
That will awaken truth.
Today I am sailing for a faraway land.

So I will continue to exalt in epiphanic verse when it is possible, but tell my plain stories otherwise.

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