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What good has soul-searching done
when I have seen only the restless stab of steel
behind eyelids; the muscle, the sinew, the bone,
the cell and its nucleus,
but missed the wheeling sun,
the pages of memory peeled one by one -
what good has soul-searching done?
I have dissected lock and key
picked apart pin and shaft, each scintillating mechanism,
seen the factory of the mind -
the program, the conveyor, felt stirrings
of that same volatile wind that swirls cups and wrappers
with leaves and branches, pollen and petals,
sends them careening down gullies
And here I stand at the precipice asking
what good has soul-searching done
what good has it done to examine the minuscule
when the monumental rides a wave and time
is at its crest; breaking, beating
to the same sad rhythm as a heart
| first of all, alot of creative thought to this, second when i read it and thought of the tittle, it makes me think life, my life, to venture threw it seek things the heart wants, the souls needs, we all seek something we want the most, i guess, over all good write and most of all thanks for reading my poem and giving your good comment, was the best comment i have read thus far lol, you too i wish the best and take care, sincerly theinforment||| Posted on 2011-02-16 00:00:00 | by theinforment | [ Reply to This ] || Consider leaving the word "sad" out of the final line.|
The word 'breaking" already suggests sadness.
Oh, I just notcied you are requesting nonsensical remarks. Oh.
I can't think of any right now.
|| Posted on 2010-12-06 00:00:00 | by ponykeeper | [ Reply to This ] || Well done once again. A quite through searching it would seem within and without what with ending at a precipice and all. |
Sad rhythm? Is there really such a thing? Perhaps it is a matter of a search for purpose. Humans have forever been quite clever in searching up dead ends, but sometimes it helps to also be inventive, and then maybe even convince yourself that this purpose is true. That said, one should never be afraid to backtrack to more familiar territory and try something else. At least that sounds better than jumping off the precipice (but we really can't know that).
Being humble and contrite
a servant seeks his shaping,
the obvious becomes more so
when faith and prayer are.
from "To Folly"
|| Posted on 2010-09-14 00:00:00 | by Blue Monk | [ Reply to This ] || The Cry|
Don't think it was all hate
That grew there; love grew there, too,
Climbing by small tendrils where
The warmth fell from the eyes' blue
Flame. Don't even think the dirt
And the brute ugliness reigned
Unchallenged. Among the fields
Sometimes the spirit, enchained
So long by the gross flesh, raised
Suddenly there its wild note of praise.
Something about this poem which acknowledges suffering and struggling but leaves me feeling like, well. You know. I just wanted to share it.
|| Posted on 2010-09-13 00:00:00 | by AlyRose | [ Reply to This ] || this poem reads restless to me and so does the one I am about to share -- though yours is a bit more disgruntled -- and what do you think: |
life is full of endless variations.
Also: note the abc
thirteen things to do while waiting for your lover
by Michaela A. Gabriel
assume a new identity every quarter hour:
be saintly, paranoid, the lonely owner of a
cat. butter a slice of bread on both sides.
drop it. frown at the result and repeat your
experiment seventeen times; take notes
for posterity. sing a song he doesn't like.
gather dust balls and put them on a shelf
high above your head. plant a baby spider
in the middle of that cosy nest. go and
jot down three questions for him: one that
keeps repeating itself, one containing a
little bit of weather and traces of music.
make the last available in five languages -
no morse code, no braille, no invention
of your own. practise oddly puckered lips,
prepare your tongue for unfamiliar twists.
quit something. anything. sudoku. zen, a
road to nowhere. replace with new addictions
search anagrams for patience is a virtue
train active pie use; stir cutie, naive ape!
unhinge a door. lose interest in pot plants.
verify a rumour that involves him and a fruit.
write a five-step manual: how to play the
xylophone with closed eyes: do re mi fa sol.
yank out the phone cord. count back to
zero from your chocolate bar's use-by date.
|| Posted on 2010-09-12 00:00:00 | by Lady of Shalott | [ Reply to This ] || or|
|| Posted on 2010-09-11 00:00:00 | by Soul-Hugger | [ Reply to This ] |