Isn't poetry derived from observation is some way.
I can pretend to understand this completely and make a fool of myself.
This seems that this observation has captured the problem with commitment from one side. To do all that is required yet to find that it is not good enough. OR One person sees life simply with no abstract but the other wishes for them to look through a colored pair of glasses. One wishes change the other just wants to be in love. Finally a sense of giving up and moving on.
Don't know what to really say here but hey this was my observation, HA HA HA
One may forget what the purpose of sharing is--that, even in this lifetime, only a few dozen may truly know (or try to know) what you're about, and empathise in some small, human way.
But, what about the 99.3% others to whom words are remains left in peat bogs, where... the essence (however tenuous) was never grasped in any way?
I don't pretend to understand this literally; instead, I'll tell you what I felt from this: frustration, overwhelming slippery-squid frustration. But at what?
The whole b.s. institution of writing, of how it may appeal to a mass demographic, or not. To... how it may connect neuroanatomically (I don't know if that word exists, but hey, if it didn't, it does now), to how you, the centre-stage player, has had enough of playing.
Bill, you're an interesting chap. An impassioned one. Rather silly, yet smart. Aren't all poets like this? If they're not, they don't deserve the title, no matter how infamous and derogatory it may seem at times to be labelled one (hell, I know I cringe whenever someone mentions something along those lines).
I think.... not a lot sometimes. I think.... the differences between strawberries and mangoes. And I realise... I love both for the nefarious tastes involved.
Which fruit are you?
You should jump in the blender more. It's a............
fruity experience, so I'm told.
What is this (apparent non-)poem about? Mayhap you'll tell me; mayhap (how archaic-sounding of me) you won't.
Peace (and sexy young nuns blowing up Guy Fawkes fireworks),
its the title and the last line that do it for me in this observation bill.
the song of love
the nonsong of nonlove
the song of nonlove
etc etc etc
im through with you.
it seems people think other people are completely dispensible these days... like paper towels in a public toilet. its pretty tragic.
toast to old times
im through with you
the implication of this idea. that perhaps the narrative voice isnt addressing a person but love itself is quite interesting. toast to old times... old loves... old rememberings... then being flung into the present and realising that there is no point toasting the past when right now 'my world is complete' and therefore needs no more lonely nights thinking of old loves...
interesting observation even if i am completely off base with my comment lol.
Strip it all down
Make it all plain
My world is complete
Language is broken
Why are we dancing?
We’ve toasted old times
I’m finished with you
Wow... a poem!!!
OK I get it! The poem itself is a reflection of its message. No fancy footwork, no big vocabulary, no mystery metaphors, no allliteration, assonance, rhyme, no fancy enjambments, no astounding imagery. Just bare bones rhythm .... like breathing in and out. So... narrator is through investing time, energy, and emotion into anything (or anyone?) beyond what is absolutely absolutely necessary. Or maybe the poet is out of tricks? Somehow I doubt that.