Eulogy for Childhood
How did this come to be?
Like the bird
that forgets to fly,
I am grounded, without purpose.
I shout below, why?
To know again,
Wonder, Fear, and Curiosity!
As I grow larger,
As does the world shrink.
I no longer see the world
as it should be.
The snowman is now cold water.
The trees, once the world in it’s own,
Are now, merely, wood.
How dead my reflection is.
And for that, this eulogy is made:
For the boy
who once feared, once wondered,
Once loved
and once lived.
As it is for the three-legged workhorse,
It is too late for me.
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Bucephalus
Unlike the noticeable majority of the people who have shared their voices on this website, I am fairly different. I am different in that I have been lucky enough to live a life not pursued by racism, fear, or struggle. I am grateful I do not have the experiences to share about such suffering. If I tried to write about a poem on, let's say, Civil Rights or Poverty, I would find myself vastly out of my league. However, because I live a life of such normalcy and comfort, it allows me to observe. I see the holy in the mundane. My words are my attempts to sanctify the ordinary. In more... realist terms, the main focus of my poetry will usually pertain to melancholy, and the subtle desire found in every human for a serene mind. I will try and confront the dusty ideas found in the attics of our brain, and keep them from dying. Never let the grief of how things once were keep you from missing how things will be in the future. As Jody's grandfather from John Steinbeck's short novel "The Red Pony" would say, "The westering is gone from people". It may be true, but for love's sake, I hope it is not.
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