On Vultures, and Inevitably

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.