Sunday, November 21, 2010

Before me, the past

Before me, the past speeds ahead.
It arrives, I know not when.

Behind me, the future is silent.
It knows that I am dead.

Pity, there is no grief in starlight.
Mercy, cries for the unborn.

Duty, is a failed science.
Love, walks alone.

You show me a sign.
A bright, fathomless smile.

As if there were, anything.
As if we were, real.

As if, rainbows give birth to children.
And they do: rainbows, and strawberries.

Fallen angels, white as any snowflake.
Black as an eye in a song.

Blue, as when light returns.
Green, because everything is so damn silly.

Honeyed as any flower.
Or as the scent and color of skin.

Intimate, as graveyard stone.
Whispers, with cold gray fingertips.

Wet shoes: where have I been?
And how did you find me?

A siren in a cityscape.
Moonlight, on a table.

Perhaps, or, simply, fate.
A wet sponge by the sink.

A leaf, a candle.
An unexpected need.

“Before me, the past” added to Poems, Slightly Used.


Woman in a Window said...

Pity, there is no grief in starlight.
Mercy, cries for the unborn.

Duty, is a failed science.
Love, walks alone.

Somehow when you write these things as truths I want you to tell me, erin, it is ok, i am bluffing for effect. Ha! I know it's not so.

Such a beautiful and painful poem. So it is with life. So it is.

It does not sound as though you walk alone in love. That smile, even if it is an illusion, it has intention.


awyn said...

"As if there were anything
as if we were real"

"moonlight on the table,
sponge by the sink"

need for the past, realness of the past, forever present -
So many meanings emerge

Incredible images, the voice loud and clear. Something new with every reading. Thanks, William.

Aleksandra said...

Thank you as always William.
Mighty one! I wish I could paint as you write .....maybe one day sooner than yesterday ....

William Michaelian said...

Erin, more than likely, there’s an element of bluff in everything I do, but by and large I think I’m the only one who falls for it. And yet, the thing is, as a poem unfolds, I find myself believing in this crazy world all over again.

Annie, I’m honored. Thank you.

I know the feeling, Aleksandra. And you know how I feel about your wonderful art. The inspiration goes both ways.

jasmin said...

lieber William, oh mein Gott…. ich denke meine lobenden Worte kommen nicht zu spät, Bescheidenheit ist eine Zier…, etwas Bedeutendes, ich weiß es, von einem Fühlen, Denken und in Worten gestalten, was wird der blaue Mond für eine Melodie singen, liebe Grüße von Jasmin

William Michaelian said...

Thank you, Jasmin. And I see you’ve shared the poem on your blog. That’s so nice of you.