Will anyone make sense of my ramblings?
Perhaps a few will try
…or maybe not
Most are too trapped by their own egos
to seek the meaning behind another's words
The human race self-seeking,
selfish, filled with envy and spite
- still, I write
Why do I have such a need to express
When I may not be understood?
Who will remember the light of day
when it's cloaked by the darkness of night?
Great artists make such an impact
but I have such a little voice
Like a small vibration inside a box
Tied up with string
Unlikely to be opened
because so few care what's within
And so, sometimes I escape to another place
where the harshness of reality fades away
And I live, but is this living
when day follows day?
Existence sometimes seems meaningless
and even absurd
Some fall for the dream,
But still, my voice remains unheard
The rustling of leaves
and the creaking of branches
signifies the existence of wind
But what is significant about my voice?
It has been drowned out by music of this world
Clashing cymbals and beating drums
Heartbeats, footsteps
- pathways to another world
I search but never quite seem to find
a meaning to it all
and perhaps the hardest truth to accept
is that maybe,
just maybe
there is no meaning at all.
I am reminded of these wise words from Sylvia Plath's "Initiation": "So many people were shut up tight inside themselves like boxes, yet they would open up, unfolding quite wonderfully, if only you were interested in them."
What others think about what you write probably has little to do with your personal quest for purpose and meaning. Writing to fulfill a need is its own reward. Don't fall into the trap of trying to please your readers. If 10 different people infer 10 different meanings, you might want to reconsider your choice of words. But that's all. Never try to please all of them, or even any of them. Please yourself, and move on. I'm also convinced that there is not one religion that can impart a believable thought about purpose and meaning. I came to the position a few years ago that we are all on a long trek of becoming our best selves through living, and doing, and failing, and learning, and doing a little better. And after 10 or 20,000 incarnations, we get to see where we are and where we were, and thus get a better idea of where we are all heading. The leap of faith comes in accepting the great similarities in near-death-experiences, and how greatly changed nearly all are who experienced them. Virtually all report great love, and caring, and understanding in an afterlife that has no judgements, no punishments, no hell, and none of the BS put forth by preachers, clergy, and similar snake oil sales people. Check out afterlife101.com. I know you are way too smart to be sold a bill of goods. Good luck.
Wonderful depth and a bit of shrouded darkness. Your voice does have meaning and purpose, never forget that. I have just passed one of the darkest moments of my existence, and I know it was more than a test; it was a testament to the events which brought me to that moment. There is emptiness now, and what feels like never-ending pain and yet, the fullness and magnitude of what came before the loss completely overshadow all else. Do I question my reason for existing? Yes, I think we all do; it's human nature. So much to say, but it cannot all be said here. Clearly, your writing, your voice, as always, is eloquent and has found a definite ear... with me, and your other voices as well have found the same. Thank you for your offering. Somehow, maybe we can find our voices and their purpose again.
Robin Ouzman Hislop's poetry is certainly in dialogue with some of the key architects of the 'poetics of indeterminacy' – both the Modernist strands represented by the likes of Beckett and Stein, and the postmodernist strands represented, initially,
Mary Angela Nangini's poems celebrate the richness of life and love. From the city to cottage-country and the roads in between, Nangini explores the changing seasons of her varied region. (This book will soon be reprinted in hard cover.)
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