straw men

Posted on | January 25, 2010 | Comments Off

In their own sweet time, the books will be read-
Stories told. Heard or unheard, who cares?
Truths and lies, disguised in fiction-and lost
Parents mixed with trees and flowers muddled with lovers?
Stories, illuminated in incense, and corrupted-
By desire of never ending- half understood,
Similars and dissimilars, stories- remittances made to uncertain futures.

You. Me. Everyone. Who understands, and who doesn’t?
Or are we merely straw men? Fathers, all,
Begotters of jealousy, illicitly betrothed to the truth?
You, Me- tied to each other- and understanding.
Madly trying to understand, you think perhaps,
And I think, ‘what if not?’ You. Me. Restricted by understanding.
Or how little we understand.

Sad little stories. Of a parent not speaking.
And of a lover speaking too much. Or maybe-
Of long silences with intermittent music.
Space quarrelling with an indeterminate time,
And we are bound with ourselves, committed to staying noncommittal.
Love. Indifference. Distrust. Unsureness.
We are human. And hope to be humane.
Straw men- bearing false witness-
To each other. Not necessarily against.

Similar Posts:

• So, yo man! what’s your story?
• beloved
• night of the fourth

Comments