5:29 AM
Strange thing,
passion.
It had coursed through my veins
the fire of unlit gasoline
But
Now
the tank is e m p t y
and existential questions of worth and meaning
g n a w
where once zeal had burned
and I gnash my teeth at
Manunkind and the monster I’ve become.
Perhaps I really am like a
butterfly
I build wings
Not roots.
Flitting to a flower for its nectar
then leaving.
And so though the road not taken
Calls
I turn my back to the
thousand cries of Others
and yield
to the little voice
of Self.
Who are you?
Are you a Nobody, too?
***
The last two lines are from Emily Dickinson in I’m Nobody! Who are you? (288). Let us all respect intellectual property rights.
***
I made the above poem back in 2nd year college when I felt my creative juices running dry because the purpose seemed somehow buried in the avalanche of *shifting tendencies*, and just too many responsibilities. Maybe twas a matter of being stretched too thin… Anyhow, I’ve also come to realize that being the passionate/creative/artistic (?) achiever that I am, I have the capacity to take on challenges and can deliver some of my best work at crunch time. The key is to know when to recharge. And of course, to always work on/for something you damn believe in.
