As
I grow old (born 1945) I can’t help wondering if I may well have made fewer
mistakes in life had I put more trust in heartfelt sensibilities and less in
the (arguably) devious designs of reason.
Whatever,
what is done is done and can never be undone although (sometimes) compensated
for if only in part…provided we have (or can find) the heart for it.
A GROWING SENSE OF WHERE REASON
FEARS TO TREAD
Days, weeks, years,
stretching across a wasteland
like a disused rail track
where ghosts play
at mind games to confuse us
about time lines
Time lines, in a haze
of remembrance playing fast
and loose with Memory
where conscience
pulls our strings and leads us
into shadowy places
In shadowy places,
wandering as lost and alone
as a child whose parent,
but for one awful moment
in time let fall the clinging hand
into unbearable space
An awful vacuum
this freedom once longed for
with, oh, such passion,
meant to fire the flames
of ambition, not made scapegoat
for an untimely burn out
Responsibility, moral
obligations where bucks stop
at a scary self-searching
where none so blind as
dare
not see block any home truths
demanding a voice
Home truths, eroding
comfort zones, pulling rugs
from under feet bent
on standing up to be
seen
scoring points over
alternatives
and so-called 'betters'
Alternatives, for better
or worse, we’ll never know
unless given a voice,
allowed to speak, make a case
for setting mind-body-spirit
free
from dogma's chains
Mind, body, human spirit
stretching across a wasteland
like a disused rail track
where ghosts play football
with 'live' heads, scoring off-side
more often than not
Copyright R. N. Taber 2016, 2019
Labels: age, ageing, experience, growing up, human nature, human spirit, identity, imagination, life, love, maturation, mind-body-spirit, nature, personal space, poetry, relationships, self-awareness, sensibility, spirituality
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