April 16: Elegy

After Earth; Trounced


After Earth

I found a box in the wasteland, a dream come true
and I opened it gingerly, the squeal of its hinges
vibrating through my fingers soundlessly; inside,
the harsh sunlight caught up and played with the dust
from crumbling pages that tore from my indelicate touch
but I read enough before closing it once more to ponder:
the point of beginning, a place that felt the caress of time
a wasteland where all is buried in the final embrace
where thousands of dreams came to die… my lips
formed the words in its strange dialect,
an elegy of what the ancients used to be: they were
a proud race of beings that got lost in a thicket of nuance
they had droves of the intangible at their fingertips,
and in the end, I suppose, they died for it:
it spoke of cities of grandeur riddled with squalor,
defiance and submission equally dispersed
a people connected by lore forgotten, and many sent into
graves of intrigue, words now worthless; there was indefinable
power, and inexorable decay – they were a people of love,
so they claimed, yet what I read between the lines spoke
of a vast hatred… loathing of disagreements, fear of
their paragon: the unknown – and fear of change; they
sought the stars and exchanged understanding for knowledge
and garnered ignorance instead… yet, there was such
intricacy, this lost civilization continues to fascinate me…
it is such a pity they lost their meaning, their substance
to a myriad of petty dreams.


April 16, 2014

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I raise my glass to toast with an elegy: an end
to picking myself up off the floor to stagger on,
and of trying to get passed thoughts that haunt me;
because I choose to drown now into senselessness,
where feelings unravel and the shackles come off—
I want to forget the failure and the pain,
I just want to drown right now and stop trying…

I drain my glass and keep singing my petty sorrows,
of the little yellow blossom of hope trampled so often
that it’s become an unrecognizable stain in the mud:
where I keep pushing on, though strength abandons me—
I want to stop feeling now, stop thinking there’s a point,
I think caring is no longer something I want—
because if I care too much, I’ll have to accept the blame…

My shame is that trying is beyond me now, though
I secretly rejoice its absence; I didn’t want to forget,
but caring turns its back in disgust as soon as
I hit the bottom of the glass – I want to let go and start
letting the feelings drain out, because if I keep them
bottled up, I know it’ll all consume me one day, and then
care as I might, try as I will, nothing will erase the weight…

Tonight I tried to forget, to curl up to lick my wounds
and convince myself that I can do it, when I know
that I cannot – I want to tell myself that I just need
to keep trying, but I know there’s nothing left to try:
either what I am is going to unravel now, or
I’ll be left behind in a blissful haze…

I just wish I could care for a little longer,
so that I can say that all I’ve done was not in vain.


April 16, 2014

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