More than anything lately, this blog
has been a journal. As for the poems themselves, I worry little of
their value beyond the pleasure they bring the writer, and those who
find them. None have taken more than a few minutes to write. I am not
trying to do anything. They are simply an expression of the
joy and pain I might be feeling upon being granted another day. All
have been written early in the morning, coffee or tea beside me, with
daylight coming on. Joy or pain — almost always a mixture of both —
and usually I would be hard pressed to distinguish between them. And
hearing that, those who have known me for a while are sure to smile.
A hopeless case, I know. And now I am smiling.
I’ve had an interesting, wonderful
feeling lately. I feel as if my mind is finally grasping something my
heart has known for a long, long time. A couple of days ago, I was
for many hours as emotional as a child. The past was present in more
beautiful ways than I have ever known, as if there were no longer
need to go back anymore. The need to strive is gone. I am a flower
now. I survive and thrive by instinct rather than will.
However long it takes to come, death is
instantaneous. More acutely than ever, I am aware that each moment
might be my last. Knowing this, how foolish I would be to go on
trying to establish or prove my importance. Such a waste of energy
and breath. I am a flower now. And so, beware the bee that flies up