TO FORGET ONESELF

By John Herlihy

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At the core of our being lies a sense of identity,

To know who we are, a true source of plenty.

Does the bud know about the fullness of the bloom?

Does a bloom remember the innocence of the bud?

Our days of youth filled with sweet longing and hope,

Falling in love for the first time, we wish to elope.

Ambition awakens our imagination to sheer heights,

The world at our feet, in the sky the Northern Lights.

We live with a sense of the vast reaches of time,

The months and years endless, and seemed all mine.

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The promise of the piano lies in the silence of sound,

To come into its own when its music floats around.

The savagery of the wolf expressed in nature wild,

The white fangs, the bristly fur, the howl self-styled.

The sweet scent of rain stirs a unique anticipation,

Soon forgotten as rain brings its thrilling titillation.

The quiet patience of the spider holds its own reward;

The entrapment of the fly shows a creature untoward.

Who can afford to forget oneself in wishing to remember,

To feel a sense of identity exposes a heart most tender.

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How puffed up I was in those days, so full of myself;

Everything I touched turned into incredible wealth.

My ambitions mounted hills never too steep to climb;

I sat on highland peaks feeling the world as sublime.

Plaudits came my way without extending much effort;

I even spent some years in the heart of the Arabian desert.

I thought nothing of running wild and stealing hearts,

Causing trouble, my friends a rowdy bunch of upstarts.

The world was my oyster, my desire to find the pearl;

Nothing could hold me back, I aspired to be an earl.

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One day, I woke up to realize I had forgotten myself,

The one act of forgetting to destroy all sense of wealth.

Who am I, what do I want, is there a knock at my door?

Dare I answer by selling myself like a desperate whore?

All my ambitions blind, my trust in the world misplaced;

How to remain true to myself as I rushed around in haste.

Strange how we forget ourselves at moments most crucial,

As if life had taught us nothing; we were still a foolish pupil.

As life slips through our fingers, with nothing left to explore,

Who will arise and respond, when fate knocks on my door?

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(c) John Herlihy November 2018