Saturday, March 5, 2011

first it is built




first it is built
then crossed
later on;
the cruel order
of passage
or departure

some burn
soon after
others
falter;

a rudimentary principle
for ones who must crawl

but so quaint
for the fit
who hover;
for those
who are able
to soar
a matter
of supple makeup
and winsome
atmosphere

whose pressing
recall
is not only probable
but likely
prescribed

unbearably
corporeal—

memento mori
subtly forgotten
in lieu of pardon
or other needful
ritual.

feign us
destiny
my love,


you've always
had this
power.





6 comments:

Elisabeth said...

Feign us destiny indeed. Memento Mori. I dreamed these words recently. It frightened me. Yours ere is a wonderful poem.

Old 333 said...

Wow, that was pretty neat, Noxalio. Held me rapt until the end. Thanks for it.

Peter

Noxalio said...

thank you kindly Elisabeth (i know, frightening phrase, eh?) ...

Noxalio said...

cheers, PG ...

Wine and Words said...

Noxy - Not sure I get it, but the first part had me thinking of bridges...burned, built...those we skip across, those we worm across inch by inch, those we never return from. I have so many, and wonder if I could choose to soar over...at ease with at least a few. Too heavy consideration of all makes forgotten mortality unlikely at best.

Are needful rituals wrong? I sure do like my coffee.

Noxalio said...

Annie, absolutely no judgment calls re: any rituals (needful or otherwise) ... especially coffee ... genus keffa from ancestral lands (or qahwa or commonly robusta or arabica) ... ha ha ...

this started as compare and contrast of personalities (real or perceived) ... but as all, it went off down its own course and landed here ...