There is a question that haunts meand I wonder if I am alone
for it feels that way
but I've been wrong
so many times
before
If I were to leave,
would anyone notice
would anyone care
would the gouge upon
the earth
meet with more than
a handful of feet
would the flowers kiss
what lips refused
would the rain show
c
a
r
e
where tears wouldn't
dare
am I just taking up space
filling time
living in a bubble
hardly worth
a dime
3 comments:
I have a hundred thoughts and I know before beginning, I will lose the vast majority while writing the minority. Perhaps there is a compliment in that, i.e. that I could spend hours upon hours within, moving from level to level, the mechanics as you refer to it, the style, the layout, the language, the tone, through you as author, as owner of the thoughts, to interpretation, and finally, when all is said and done, to reaction, to personalization, which in this case is rather comprehensive, and I wonder then, as the question within, if these thoughts are not strange on that level, is it then common, in fact I shall not go into detail or say which poems or chapters for it has nothing to do with anything, and has no place, should not be said and was not until now, but just for the simple act of statement, this is something that happens often, not recognition of exactness but in a direction I had considered whether was entirely individual.
It seems to me observing that the majority of those that I come into contact with feel secure in the knowledge that theirs is a place occupied, that just as the guest that did not show, an empty chair would stand in reminder of what is not there, the missing piece of their particular circular puzzle, a link in a chain now broken, and that is probably as far as the thought goes, not to mending or filling or days that pass and memories that fade, but the here and now of belonging, in short, most feel, I think, a great sense of belonging, of being part.
I think of that saying, though I cannot remember it correctly, of not meaning something to everybody but perhaps meaning the world to one somebody, and I think of it for the reason that though it should perhaps not be the case, a hundred small known and unknown impacts that a person can have on their surroundings is not registered in the same way as one single large reflection of our importance to a single person of great significance, to put it very simply a hundred friends, colleagues, acquaintances who would remember fondly, who when to think would remember specific events and times, friendship given, words that mattered, hearts and minds that grew due to having known, interacted with, been touched by and so on and so forth, but those hundred would not weigh as much as to cite perhaps the best example, the love of a child, not due to blood, but due to relationship, to life, hours and days and moments and time. If everyone weighed the same, even I to cite the easiest example, faraway admirer of your heart, mind and soul, could dispel the very idea, anyone would turn to at least one. Another slightly different angle to this is something you wrote once, in comments, I think it may have been, or the fractals pre-story stage it might have been actually come to think of it, where you spoke of someone telling you about the impact that you had had on them by something you had said, some kindness offered which at the time meant much more than you could have imagined and that was remembered still and with gratitude to that day, and beyond, to that day when they told you of it. You spoke I remember of not knowing, the gist so to speak that we do not always know what we can mean in the moment to another, the superpower of your status recently, and the words that papa spoke, you know, from the outside looking in, not to take anything away, I know from tone that this is pure, not that you would ever write anything that wasn't, but looking from my heart to yours, looking at everything that I have seen of you these past years, in that somewhat, in some ways, limited capacity of distance and internet, and because of the greatness of impression despite those details, having been so touched by your writing, your friendship, your sharing, your kindnesses, watching you extend, and embrace and share and all good things to summarize here at blogger, Karen and Deena to cite two dynamic, so to speak, examples, and forgetting not, to reiterate, this is just here, blogworld, not to mention life, it is flabbergasting that you could wonder. Which is where the weight comes in. And measure. Measure can be hard for regular folk, again in a manner of speaking, Mandela being an example of irregular, the answers are often much less obvious in regards to achievement, to impact, to legacy, to importance, to reason. What is the sum, the dash if you will. And how soon will it be forgotten. The part about space, for I have lost my train on the other, was interesting in and for itself for the simple reason that whatever space we fill, were we not in it, would not be filled by someone else but be empty instead, but alas, I lost that train too, blame the now late hour, better that than thought of as a sieve or a mess, :-D, okay, well, here ends part A, with a final observance, I saw beauty and my heart was engraved by the honesty, by the sharing, by the exquisiteness of your free flowing ink.
A positive comment: I like the raindrops. Missed those somehow before. Wish I'd thought of it. Damn! ;-)
Thank you my dear Ms Storm.
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