A Quick Word

"In order to go on living one must try to escape the death involved in perfectionism." -Hannah Arendt (1906-1975)

08 November 2009

Soured expectations.

Why has my mind been so complicated lately?

Tonight is one of those nights where everything
And nothing
Crashes down all at once,
and if I could just understand,
if I could only grasp, reach out,
perhaps see-- but no,
the answers remain clouded to me.
To know, it seems, would be
And so, with the dithering,
The driveling, much is left to rot
In this sordid, splendid spot.
All hope has not completely left
Me, I know
That I am-- what I am--
And the tension can break.
The tension, sweet tension, tenuous
Stringent estrangement from parts
Of me
That lack, and are lacking.
I feel the frustration
Of Prometheus on the mountaintop,
My own Caucasus looming, and
The bindings binding me to stone
As that wretched bird picks at
My stomach.
A beautiful vista stretching
For miles into stunning infinity.
But I cannot reach,
Though god-like, I am
I am reduced to mere man
By the manacles, shambles,
And my own mind.
For, I find, that cleverness
Is at least, partially divine.
---As, perhaps, am I.

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