I am not dead Yet, My inferences doubt my existence. Things seen, forgotten tomorrow; Would my hands move, Would i see, Hate the meaningless reasons Behind the curtains. Brown days, boils in hand; The sword of the dawn, Lives in all of us. Hard, gusted; Rotten flesh in the rains to see tomorrow. Yes, it is summer.
A well-rendered existentialist sensibility. The difference between a Euro existentialist sensibility and Zen, Taoist, or Advaita Vedantic, is that the latter forms of enquiry run deeper and don't assume Life needs reasons -- or that Life is determined by form only.
In other words, a contemplative disposition transcends the fretting of the mortal figure to intuit the a priori Ground. One is correct to suspect the veracity of a mere egoic lifespan, but it's nothing to worry about. There is a grace to allowing Consciousness to permeate you without getting in the way. It isn't even that difficult to directly observe that thoughts and feelings and phenomenology are arising in Consciousness.
We are wise to shift from the tormented logic of the figure to the seamless intuition of the Ground.
Your "sword of the dawn" reads like a scythe, but it is also Awareness Itself.
It's good. Kind of vague. But I guess that's part of the whole life and death mythology theme.
Keep writing. If only it was more expressive it would be awesome.
Sounds like a man detached, living in a haze, searching for reason, answers, then you conclude that it's just the lazy days of summer. Well written. You took the time to weave words together to express your feelings, give a little time to make the words important and give them a title.
it reminds me of those dark little memories that everyone has that they try to keep hidden, I like how you how you worded this peice, it's almost like being close to death and reminding yourself that you still excist, very nice. I think it is a wonderful poem