Understanding, just by using one's knowledge
for another question, has opened a wide
and lustrous hole to make judgment with.
I see one thing, hear other, and use
it to know what is right, what has merit,
and what has lies with no truth behind.
But that is only used on others.
What happens when I use it on myself?
A mess of a person,, fearing all, and
yet, still sees another, still wants to
embrace, to hold, without fear.
What have I become? One who wants,
but will push it away if I received it,
for fear of what? Burning? Betrayal?
Then why would I ever want one close?
Where is the logic in it all?
I don't know, I simply... don't know....
The inner turmoil in this poem is so strong that it's almost painful to read. It makes me feel a struggle that's not my own, and that's why I love it.
ReplyDeleteThis poem is very good. It moves me even more for the fact that I know the symtoms of this inner turmoil. I see it everyday in the actions of a friend. Even though I may not know the cause of this struggle I feel and connect with it. I disagree with the premise presented in the title but grip with a similar issue of what is right. More often than not my moral code and logic dictate a path to follow which is incompatible with my emotions. I think that even if it is not the accute point in the poem to connect with everyone I think in a way you have brought us all a little closer, a great step in lessening such inner conflictions.
ReplyDeleteI wrote a song once based on a) a logical reasoning textbook from philosophy class, and b) a drunk couple fighting in front of their kids at a campground in upstate New York. Here are the words:
ReplyDeleteTHE LOGIC OF REAL ARGUMENTS
A puts a hand out like a crossing guard--he wants it all to stop.
B says “You never talk--who are these ghosts that haunt your tongue?”
The books are closed on this game; we are taking no more bets
Good blood has incurred bad debts before this.
I had a textbook, read it cover to cover.
I was so prepared--I knew the rules--
I thought--and I was wrong--
That I knew you.
B has thought this all through--each conclusion follows premise
Like a wind-up toy. A can only shout, but that will do.
Throw out your guidebook—it’s the same in every language,
Kind words strangled in your throat before these.
I had a textbook, told me
“Cut through words to structures,
Dispel needless emotions,
Think clearly now.” But...
I shout and you crumple.
I learn to fight dirty and win. My record speaks for itself,
It has learned to shout for itself.