Thoughts From A Fifteen Year Old Me
PostPosted: Thu Mar 08, 2007 3:01 pm
Note: I wrote this when I was 15/16, I believe. An interesting piece of writing, I thought it was the best thing I had ever written. It isn't quite a poem, but it is something, and even though I could probably write it better now, it still is level with all my other writings....
Does This Poem Exist (Is This A Poem?)
Life. Time. Existence.
Do we dwell on the bones of dead poets?
Prophets seem to have dwindled, yet who are all these voices crying in the desert?
Do you remember? do you remember that spark which inspired us?
That which made us philosophers, priests, poets! We were like Newlyweds, every moment filled with- dare I say it?
Divine inspiration!
We were married to it, that spark, that fleeting image which all other images are merely poor idols of; that which cannot be captured in words or songs, but only find purchase in our souls for a rapturous, fleeting millisecond, a moment which we could have for millennia’s and not understand or comprehend.
But now...joy seems to have once again escaped our grasp. These faded colors have spawned abominations, creating simpering, whimpering primps who writhe in the ashes instead of trying to overcome them. They say they have no illusions, that they have seen ancient days come and go, while out of the other side of their mouth they call themselves the "New Movement". they live life celebrating human suffering, yet they did not taste the bite of cold steel, nor feel the world piercing entrance of Hot Lead!
But do not think of me as better, for I too once embraced this lie, that the rotted flesh of a corpse was better than the rosy cheeks of my beloved, because it was more "real". Yet as I sat among the self-appointed Apostles and messiahs, bathing in the ashes of my "holiness" while engaging in acts of spiritual impurity, I remembered that...that spark. I raised my gaze from the earth (which I had lusted after) to the starry expanse rightfully known as "the Heavens", and I saw. What did I see? I saw "IT"! I SAW "THAT"! I perceived the grand mystery for just that instant, and I realized a truth: That even though we have all seen "it", that light or spark, and through it understood all things...yet, because of the nature of that spark, when it recedes, so does our understanding! For the infinite cannot be comprehended by the finite, and the pure cannot be grasped by the impure.
Yet in that eternal place, not confined by the meaningless shackles of minutes or hours, I had touched it, and not defiled it. I had held that which is most Holy, and been held by it. And as I floated in a place without direction, as I slipped back into the bright, beautiful paradox, this shining yet gray purgatory known as the "world", I swore a Holy Oath, which may be misplaced, but never forgotten:
That I, through living, would rise against the lies and the forces which bind us, raising above the mundane and the petty, resisting the idols which once tempted me, and the masks which I once wore.
And now, I will live that oath, and tell it to all others.
Does This Poem Exist (Is This A Poem?)
Life. Time. Existence.
Do we dwell on the bones of dead poets?
Prophets seem to have dwindled, yet who are all these voices crying in the desert?
Do you remember? do you remember that spark which inspired us?
That which made us philosophers, priests, poets! We were like Newlyweds, every moment filled with- dare I say it?
Divine inspiration!
We were married to it, that spark, that fleeting image which all other images are merely poor idols of; that which cannot be captured in words or songs, but only find purchase in our souls for a rapturous, fleeting millisecond, a moment which we could have for millennia’s and not understand or comprehend.
But now...joy seems to have once again escaped our grasp. These faded colors have spawned abominations, creating simpering, whimpering primps who writhe in the ashes instead of trying to overcome them. They say they have no illusions, that they have seen ancient days come and go, while out of the other side of their mouth they call themselves the "New Movement". they live life celebrating human suffering, yet they did not taste the bite of cold steel, nor feel the world piercing entrance of Hot Lead!
But do not think of me as better, for I too once embraced this lie, that the rotted flesh of a corpse was better than the rosy cheeks of my beloved, because it was more "real". Yet as I sat among the self-appointed Apostles and messiahs, bathing in the ashes of my "holiness" while engaging in acts of spiritual impurity, I remembered that...that spark. I raised my gaze from the earth (which I had lusted after) to the starry expanse rightfully known as "the Heavens", and I saw. What did I see? I saw "IT"! I SAW "THAT"! I perceived the grand mystery for just that instant, and I realized a truth: That even though we have all seen "it", that light or spark, and through it understood all things...yet, because of the nature of that spark, when it recedes, so does our understanding! For the infinite cannot be comprehended by the finite, and the pure cannot be grasped by the impure.
Yet in that eternal place, not confined by the meaningless shackles of minutes or hours, I had touched it, and not defiled it. I had held that which is most Holy, and been held by it. And as I floated in a place without direction, as I slipped back into the bright, beautiful paradox, this shining yet gray purgatory known as the "world", I swore a Holy Oath, which may be misplaced, but never forgotten:
That I, through living, would rise against the lies and the forces which bind us, raising above the mundane and the petty, resisting the idols which once tempted me, and the masks which I once wore.
And now, I will live that oath, and tell it to all others.