''Folly''
Boundaries
"Boundaries"
By K. Scott Smith
1.
Sleeping always close to books,
close to pens
and various notebooks,
journals that look solemn in Black or in Brown.
2.
I recall a Summer so long,
so endless and violent,
that I did not mean to live through it.
I recall a Lebanese woman,
beautiful and intriguing,
sitting on a long staircase reading,
waiting.
3.Condemned to live out each wish,
made in haste.
Condemned to and by a whim,
resolved to never change...
But all must change,
take your leave or take your place,
take your pick of lost causes,
there are so many to choose from.
The day has brought new colors
mixing and mingling hues,
making bold new promises,
never made lightly of playfully.
Ive waited on signs,
on wines and some turn of fate,
that never comes and never will
So much for waiting.
4.
A stolen coat of dreams,
long and with hidden pockets.
Slip and hour here,a moment there,
Hesitation resting against an old watch,
from the days when men believed in ''Time''.
Through this pen I may lift myself a little further up.
I can, in some sense, dissolve present boundaries,
certain illusions.
And though I must return from my work,
as spent as one who has worked all day in the fields,
into the old and littered world of men,
and machines..the ''modern age'',
It is, at least, some comfort to fly,
if even for a little while.
Otherwise this world may have crushed me long ago.
5.
If I had nothing at all to say,
to ask or to teach,
if I had nothing to add or to destroy,
it would be so easy to vanish.
The effort of fleeing, of running away,
is far less than the effort required to stay,
to remain, to work.
I have also heard the rooster crow
and though the farmer is waking early-
I have not slept at all.
What different dawns we must experience,
what difference of eyes, of Suns,
of gaining light and receding darkness.
If I were, at last, unmoved by the world
or some thing in it,
I could vanish-
receding like the shadows at days end.
Ah, a true end of days
without Immortality's burden.
6.
I gazed into light of pure radiance,
that no other could see...
Stricken, as it were, like some Biblical fool
on his way to scourge a city
But I did not lose my nerve-
at least not completely.
I gazed at stars that others had named
and given order to-
I gave them no names
and created my own order,
new constellations of dust
Life played like a game.
7.
Nights I could not breathe
or refused to sleep
or wouldn't keep,
these secrets anymore.
Days that were almost a test
cursed or worse-then blessed
with a long evening,
that fell on the city like rain.
8.
Wave after constant wave,
rushes to break itself,
upon familiar shores
Each poem became an abyss
then each hour regaining certain youth,
playfully profound.
feint seriousness and certainty
and perhaps you'll find it,
where you least expected to find it.
Each days new symmetry is perfection,
yet is becoming.
If failure is to be our last wish,
if the stars do not forsake us,
if the world does not end-
What now? What then?
9.
Finding favor in Vino
and in fair women
with lush and swelling bookshelves
and proud red wines
To look deeply into the world
and every vice,
to look into ones own heart,
to find the courage to express it,
without the need to be understood.
10.
Dreamed of the lovely merchant's daughter
with raven hair
desert eyes and fixed gaze.
A half of a smile on her lips.
The End
By K. Scott Smith
1.
Sleeping always close to books,
close to pens
and various notebooks,
journals that look solemn in Black or in Brown.
2.
I recall a Summer so long,
so endless and violent,
that I did not mean to live through it.
I recall a Lebanese woman,
beautiful and intriguing,
sitting on a long staircase reading,
waiting.
3.Condemned to live out each wish,
made in haste.
Condemned to and by a whim,
resolved to never change...
But all must change,
take your leave or take your place,
take your pick of lost causes,
there are so many to choose from.
The day has brought new colors
mixing and mingling hues,
making bold new promises,
never made lightly of playfully.
Ive waited on signs,
on wines and some turn of fate,
that never comes and never will
So much for waiting.
4.
A stolen coat of dreams,
long and with hidden pockets.
Slip and hour here,a moment there,
Hesitation resting against an old watch,
from the days when men believed in ''Time''.
Through this pen I may lift myself a little further up.
I can, in some sense, dissolve present boundaries,
certain illusions.
And though I must return from my work,
as spent as one who has worked all day in the fields,
into the old and littered world of men,
and machines..the ''modern age'',
It is, at least, some comfort to fly,
if even for a little while.
Otherwise this world may have crushed me long ago.
5.
If I had nothing at all to say,
to ask or to teach,
if I had nothing to add or to destroy,
it would be so easy to vanish.
The effort of fleeing, of running away,
is far less than the effort required to stay,
to remain, to work.
I have also heard the rooster crow
and though the farmer is waking early-
I have not slept at all.
What different dawns we must experience,
what difference of eyes, of Suns,
of gaining light and receding darkness.
If I were, at last, unmoved by the world
or some thing in it,
I could vanish-
receding like the shadows at days end.
Ah, a true end of days
without Immortality's burden.
6.
I gazed into light of pure radiance,
that no other could see...
Stricken, as it were, like some Biblical fool
on his way to scourge a city
But I did not lose my nerve-
at least not completely.
I gazed at stars that others had named
and given order to-
I gave them no names
and created my own order,
new constellations of dust
Life played like a game.
7.
Nights I could not breathe
or refused to sleep
or wouldn't keep,
these secrets anymore.
Days that were almost a test
cursed or worse-then blessed
with a long evening,
that fell on the city like rain.
8.
Wave after constant wave,
rushes to break itself,
upon familiar shores
Each poem became an abyss
then each hour regaining certain youth,
playfully profound.
feint seriousness and certainty
and perhaps you'll find it,
where you least expected to find it.
Each days new symmetry is perfection,
yet is becoming.
If failure is to be our last wish,
if the stars do not forsake us,
if the world does not end-
What now? What then?
9.
Finding favor in Vino
and in fair women
with lush and swelling bookshelves
and proud red wines
To look deeply into the world
and every vice,
to look into ones own heart,
to find the courage to express it,
without the need to be understood.
10.
Dreamed of the lovely merchant's daughter
with raven hair
desert eyes and fixed gaze.
A half of a smile on her lips.
The End
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Boundaries
Boundaries
