Friday, 19 January 2018

Are all ends means to an end?

Ends are absurd.
An end
Is a little like being dead.
One day, you’re alive.
The very next, you’re not.
Ends are absurd.
And beginnings, too.
A beginning
Is a little like being born.
One day, you never were.
The very next, you are.

Does an infant miss not being born?
Maybe not.
It doesn’t remember being unborn anyway.
Do the dead miss being alive?
Maybe not.
They don’t remember being alive anyway.

The unborn
And the dead
Know nothing about
Out of sight, out of mind.

The unborn
And the dead
Do not have
Vivid memories.

But a sentient person,
Attached to what they’re leaving behind,
Uncertain about what’s to come,
Will agree that
Ends are absurd
And beginnings, too.

               Because moving from one team to another warrants a romantic account.
               Which is not surprising considering my two-step approach to dealing/coping with things that stir/affect me:
1. Head rant
2. Write
               Well, I proved to myself today, that not all poems need rhyme to resonate.
               Until the next visit from the elusive creative muse, ciao.

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