The Real and the ideal
by Christopher Gordon Ingham
Monday, September 30, 2002
Print Save Become a Fan
The Real and The Ideal
A poem of imaginative possibility.
Part One: The Real.
A stillness of time pervades my real world,
Like Eliot's still point in a world turning.
Each day routinely follows the routine
Of days and of time past, present, future.
Silvery greyness permeates my soul,
My all encompassing reality.
The slow, steady trudge of inhibition
Moves me along the path of destiny.
Narrowing, always narrowing, it leads
Away from light, forwards inexorably
Towards dusty, ever thickening gloom.
And I, I must follow instinctively
As on a quest not of my own making,
Journeying not for the bright grail holy
But rather reaching for the bitter cup
Of life devoid of possibility.
Part Two: The Ideal.
The bird calling, sun scented rose garden
Blooming with endless possibility
Fills up my world as I look to the light.
You stand by the waterfall of desire
Calling to me, drawing me towards you
Away from my rational hell of self.
Your voice bright, clear against the trilling birds
Weaves threads magical. I rise up
And come to you, your words thrilling, enticing
Me slowly but completely back to life