Why is everything poetry and not prose lately?

This is rather worse poetry than the last one, but it adds a little perspective.


I want to turn cartwheels and fly and slide down stairs headfirst -
Not for any reason, not because I am happy (or sad, for that matter)
Just because

The world goes swinging around the sun,
And I go swinging through life
Up and down, up and down.

Sometimes I see - I think I see - the pattern to all the woven strands
Of life, the world, existence and time
"Eureka!" I yell, and then it's gone.

Like a child, it runs away when I say I've found it
Like snow, it melts when I grab it
Hide-and-seek is more fun when everyone wants to play

I watch in silent wonder and the universe opens to me
But I must remember to not grow too sure of its compliance
Or it will slam its doors in my face.

Pi has a pattern and so has music
The kind you can see, but not predict
Like life.

In balance, out of balance
in again, out again, Michael Finnegan
So it goes.

I think this is a poem

It is too confusing to be anything else.

I close the book of my teenage years and try to start afresh
but find I am still writing the same tale
in black on white

I am alone in a world of black and white (or really, just alone)
We are grey - so different, yet the same.

It is not good be to alone
But I am
For no one understands me, my world
Not even I.

Black and white, they press questions on me (starkly divided, yet ever changing),
Who are you?
Grey is only what, not who.
An answer rises to my lips, but they are stone.
Stones are white.
Stones are black.

I speak, but my words are black and white
The truth is grey.
It is somewhere in between, where no one can see
I regret that I spoke.

I remain silent, try the better part of wisdom
but they do not understand.
Do you understand?
I don't.

Always questions, never answers.
I have no answers. Seek them not here.

I am not alone.
A voice cries "Run to the light!"
I hear. I run
only to fall in the pit at my feet. Black engulfs me.

falling, falling

Again, the voice.
I run again, and fall again.
I cannot escape the vicious circle, black and white.

How can I run when I am broken (broken into dark and light)?
How can I sing with this weight on my chest?

I cannot do it. I cannot escape. Take it off me. Let me go.
Let me go!





I am free, but not for long.