poem
The Fallen
June 1, 2005
From where I sit I can see planes taking off
Noses to the sky, bellies slanting upward, wings like a frown
Every time one goes, I silently wish I was on it.
Out there. So many places, opportunities, adventures Out there, far away. Beyond this desk.
At nearly 40, time becomes an enemy. It gets away from us. Some stop chasing it and begin waiting. For the end of it.
But I can’t slow down now. Things are just coming into focus. And I would miss the silent thrill Of the unknown. The unexplored. The tiny wheels and cogs Of this magnificent machine
The iridescence of a bluebird’s feathers The taste of mandarin oranges The smell of diesel The roaring of subway cars and water over rocks The unexpected touch of a lover’s hand in the dark.
Yes there are lies and heartbreak Suffering and loss Countless years wasted with guilt, anger, resentment and sorrow sleeping working Toiling about in the killing of time to get to the good parts if only for a moment.
I have no regrets. Each mistake is a lesson. I’m due some more learning Dreams and aspirations like glass often shatter But they still shimmer and sparkle Even with our blood on them And there are still possibilities in the fallen. Each shard and broken piece A new beginning The sharpest ones cut the deepest But it reminds us the stuff of our insides Is oil on the cogs and the wheels And they just keep spinning and spinning and spinning.
The hardest part is sitting still. The hardest part is getting on the move.
Out there. So many places, opportunities, adventures Out there, far away. Beyond this desk.
At nearly 40, time becomes an enemy. It gets away from us. Some stop chasing it and begin waiting. For the end of it.
But I can’t slow down now. Things are just coming into focus. And I would miss the silent thrill Of the unknown. The unexplored. The tiny wheels and cogs Of this magnificent machine
The iridescence of a bluebird’s feathers The taste of mandarin oranges The smell of diesel The roaring of subway cars and water over rocks The unexpected touch of a lover’s hand in the dark.
Yes there are lies and heartbreak Suffering and loss Countless years wasted with guilt, anger, resentment and sorrow sleeping working Toiling about in the killing of time to get to the good parts if only for a moment.
I have no regrets. Each mistake is a lesson. I’m due some more learning Dreams and aspirations like glass often shatter But they still shimmer and sparkle Even with our blood on them And there are still possibilities in the fallen. Each shard and broken piece A new beginning The sharpest ones cut the deepest But it reminds us the stuff of our insides Is oil on the cogs and the wheels And they just keep spinning and spinning and spinning.
The hardest part is sitting still. The hardest part is getting on the move.