The writing of poetry
Is not deliberate.
It is willed, mandatory~
Of the moment
Obligatory
Statement of being
Of loving
Of caring
Of despairing
Of questioned
Or definite hope
But most assuredly
Statement of me!

Paper, ink and lives
Are the confines
Of the epitome
Of the debts of me.
The words therein
Never been penned
The real or all
To apprehend
Or the effect to say
To convey
The urgent essay
Of their display.

Perhaps if I whine enough
Pine and whine
For the sublime
Of being
I will relent from seeing
All as too much
And not enough
To compensate
The blank
Consummate
In the death
Of totality on earth
That I require
To state the
Yes latent
But ineffable
In me.

Like a song out of tune,
A non melody of dissonance
I reverberate to actuality
Of the ultimate finality
Of the all and every moment
That breath, sight and hearing
Offer to being and bearing
Adrift in specificity
Of non-entity.

I am the universe
Of the cosmos
Trapped in reverse
Of momentum
Toward the inverse
Of understanding~

Knowing all but
Stymied in perplexity
Of my own truth
Opposed to denial
Of. Perhaps?

Astounded at my inadequacy
To unmistakably
State the atrophy
Of my mind
And heart
To blend to bland
The savor of life's flavor.
Is it chocolate, vanilla
Or amalgam ion
And thus bittersweet?
No matter.
It does not satisfy
Nor will, even
When I die to now
Awake to them
With hope to comprehend.

Wordless music is the only semi statement
Of the depths
Of this dilemma.
But the yearning of words
Toward such success
Is poignant passions excess
Though dashed upon rocks of negation
Here the less is due
The approbation
Of ineffable truth's confession
To compassionate abnegation.

3/30/1982

Written By Addie W. Williams