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Tag: momentum

Along for the Ride

Published on June 2, 2006

There are times when I’m determined
(or at least, some times I feel)
that my life should find its purpose
in constructing something real:
an edifice in marble, some landmark
of stone and steel,
so that my passing leaves some sign.
Such thoughts have their appeal
when I imagine that my hands
are tight upon the wheel,
and that this life is more than just
what cards the world may deal.

To leave a mark upon this earth,
to feel a sense of pride;
a man seeks to find meaning
where two roads may coincide:
to make finite steps forward,
rather than to merely slide
along inside the slipstream,
carried onward by the tide;
to know that one has gathered up
enough good sense inside
to choose the path their feet would walk,
one’s wisdom undenied.

Yet other times, it seems to me,
I think with greater sense,
and ponder with less confidence
my whole experience:
a lifetime spent in wondering,
in straddling the fence,
denying often greater truths
for lack of evidence
(at least, the kind that leaves its spoor,
some fleeting track or scent)
and feeling lost inside a maze
of moments, gained and spent.

So then what does it matter
whose hands are upon the wheel?
Both journeys planned and unrehearsed
have proven their appeal.
Too often my decisions
(or their counterpart, no choice)
result in finding chaos
where I cannot hear my voice.
What destination beckons?
Let the universe decide;
for I am just a passenger
come along for the ride.

02 JUN 2006

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The Doldrums

Published on April 11, 2005

Now to the Doldrums we have come,
our sails gone limp, weighed down and still,
and not a breath of wind is left
to draw from old Poseidon’s lungs.
The brackish air insults what brawn
we strain to heave against the oars
to gain an inch or two, no more,
while taunting, sweltered hours crawl.
Long gone, momentum seems a dream,
and progress but a pale mirage;
despite the months spent on the seas,
and endless leagues beneath our keel.

Who has the strength of faith required
in times like these, to feel for breeze,
or raise a moistened, hopeful thumb
against a parched and vengeful sun?
The nights are like the days, they stretch
beyond the far edge of the world,
where one can see the salt consume
the bitter water in dry foam.
The wine is turned to vinegar,
the citrus shrunk to rind;
the bread, once relished hard and dry
grates like a knife with every bite.

So many who began this trip
have fallen o’er the side;
Who knows what passion drives a soul
to certain suicide?
To hope seems vain and fruitless,
just an exercise in pain;
who knew a curse on dreary climes
would end with prayer for rain?
Beneath the deck, the foul air sits
just like an old, despotic king.
He sits in judgment on us all.
Who can arouse his clemency?

The days and nights become the same,
both dreamless states that sour
the taste of pride to curdled milk
and drain the well of meaning dry.
Perhaps tomorrow brings the wind
and thus, an end to this malaise;
What good great fortunes won, if lost
to these despairing, heartless days?
And as for dreams turned dry and bare,
what comfort are those bleaching bones
that mock, like mists from distant isles,
the eyes that take this watch, alone?

11 APR 2005

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