Sunday, February 22, 2009

I was following the pack of swallows.

Sunday night. I cannot remember a time in my life when I didn't dread Sunday nights. It is one of my greatest accomplishments in the last few months that I now revel in the glory of Sunday evenings. I generally get to spend my Sunday evenings with a group of people who have proven to be vital in my sanity since I moved up here. They are beautiful and amazing people who have taught me what is valuable and important in this short life that we all live together. And even when I don't see those people on Sundays, I take that time to think about how important the people in my life are to me. It's a new revelation for me to be so positively and consciously engaged in the relationships I have with, well, everybody.

As I'm sure you may have noticed, I've been posting some poetry. That is because about two weeks ago, I began to write again, after a four year hiatus. I couldn't be happier. The same person who inspired me to begin writing again told me last night that once we focus on the love we have for the people we spend time with, then that love becomes the only thing of importance, and the world just has to come to terms with that. I can feel the world around me shifting towards this notion, and it fills me with indescribable peace.

If birds could walk like humans
Would they proudly march
In bubbles made of their own egos
Or would they flock?

Rush around in mad scrambles
To follow the wind
To no avail, because their wings
Are gone, not just clipped but
Taken away completely?

Hold their heads up high
And preach convictions,
Thinly veiled bitter gems
Cloaked in righteous beauty?

Or would they fall,
Crippled by the loss of
Wings that used to carry
Bodies less burdened?

1 comment:

  1. On closer inspection, I'm not sure that swallows move in packs. I like your new music listing. I might steal that.