The I

Snow, wind and a sense of emptiness.
The cats are sleeping. Only the I is the issue
and the music that captures my attention.

So what is the I that bursts with longing
more than a turmoil of impulses trying to make sense
of all information constantly calling on the I.

The soft sound of children blends with the violin.
Focus shifts and all gates are open to the distance.
Am I only the interpreter of all that I see and hear?

A harp warps my intention into imaginary water
and I fear what I do not understand.
I is all that I have to take hold of this moment.

The slow flow of continuation constantly changes
with the amount of focus I can muster.
I dare this pile of confusion to conclude!




Poetry by Bob
Read 435 times
Written on 2010-11-25 at 16:23

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countryfog
Very interesting perspective . . . the limitations (and are they self-imposed?) of the individual in the cascade of the cosmic. It seems to be our nature to stand apart and be "the interpreter", which necessarily narrows our focus to what our experience and sensibilities can relate to. Much here to ponder.
2010-11-26



An interesting take on the I.

The confusion wants to be concluded.
Lose the I, focus on the Thee.

Or, in lieu of that,
mimic the cats, and lose all, merely exist.

A thoughtfully written take on a moment of life.
Strong images.

jim
2010-11-25


John Ashleigh
Again a really nice poem. Thanks for sharing.

Regards,
John.
2010-11-25