The Grain

 

 

 

 

Did I peer innocently at the passing seasons?

Store everything I saw as life's perfections,

And into the grains I travelled all my life,

Until I was asked to account for something,

Like why is the sky blue, why birds sing?

Did this make me upset having to account for it?

Will inquiring into something destroy our perfection?

The way we seem to suspect its nature and way?

Or is it the door to another world, one of knowing?

I must bring more attention to these. They make a bear,

Someone in me who won't tolerate a new experience,

Who won't rise from where they have sat. See anew,

With the eyes of the new generation, suggestive

Perhaps of something more I might be,

Rather than moving along the grains,

Of life's first vision of itself, stationery

Like a bird that doesn't flap its wings

While in flight. Simply to enjoy the world revolving,

Around itself as its majestic and royal cage.

Hmm! Actually its not half bad, unless, we're bored stiff.

 

 

 

 

 

Reviews

[DeliriousCerises]

To me this speaks of lost innocence and growth. I'm not if that's what you meant, I felt like I missed a lot of the subtleties of this poem. But that just makes rereading it more fun.

[Marie]

Sometimes questions are best unanswered. It may be possible simply to sit and enjoy the world--if not you have to get up and do something about it.