This doesn’t feel
like home anymore,
yet my eye catches things,
shreds of the warmth
of deep humanity
that still soar freely
within the cyclone of the
ideologically opposed,
the conflation,
those who choose
transience over tradition,
In spite of it all
there’s still a flicker of light
that glistens every so often
in the peripheral,
serving as a subtle reminder
of another way to be,
a certain sense of stillness
that offers a view so wide
it shifts our perspective,
We’re on our back foot now,
tensed and ready to swing
it’s beyond the
point of interesting tension,
this rage of the
forgotten and the unseen,
they don’t have it in them
to abide or to obey,
The walls of our bubble
are growing ever so thin,
reality is losing its elasticity
and meaningful connections,
we suffer from amnesia about
exactly how beautiful it is to
sit together, sharing time, and
combining unlikely words.
Do you remember?
It’s easy to forget
how we can immerse
ourselves instantly
in the moment of absolute,
it's sometimes hard
to recall kindness is a
great curator of people
who learn to help silently in
their own organic ways,
Each of us are
attracted to the edges,
and this is where we’ll meet
to feel each of those euphoric highs
born at the speed of inspiration,
vowing to keep doing
good through the pain,
or at least continue to try,
it's oh so important to try.
When the world
is no longer
the place we fell in love with
sometimes all we have to do
is remember, in the end
we will find our way,
we will hit our marks,
stand squarely in the light,
and have the courage
to see beyond convention
and admit, yes,
there is another way to be.
~Eric Vance Walton~
Be well and make the most of this day.
(Gif sourced from Giphy.com)
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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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