Life – a poem

Life

 

Life is like a meander through a wood on a sunny afternoon.

You know you’re going somewhere but you don’t know where.

At first the trail is big and wide with many people to direct you.

But it soon begins to fork and split and meander off into the unknown.

Some paths are enticing but they rarely lead anywhere.

Sometimes you become distracted by a pleasant glade

And stop for a while to linger in the beauty of its dappled warmth.

Sometimes you are lost within the darkness of forbidding trees.

Trails come and go and usually peter out into thick undergrowth.

There is no map to guide you on your journey

And the tales of the fellow travelers that you meet along the way

Are often not at all helpful.

When you set off you had all the time in the world

But it is already late afternoon. The sun is low in the sky

And night is drawing near.

There is no way back to from where you came and no end in sight.

Time is slipping away.

There were so many things that you intended to do;

So many places that you intended to visit

And so many people you wanted to meet.

There was not time to do it all.

Now, as night is about to fall, you wonder if you followed the right trail.

Where did all that time go?

How did you get here?

This is not where you intended to end up

That morning when you set off down your trail.

The journey distracted you.

The trails led you away.

But have you enjoyed your day in the woods?

 

Opher – 8.5.2019

 

 

I’m not sure if this is a poem at all. Reflecting back on a long life one is struck by the way one has drifted along. Days were filled with all the routine of work, chores, family and the necessities. Rarely were their moments of clarity. Choices were always a risk.

One packed in what had to be done and selected the options from the menu on offer.

The meal was not always what one ordered.

Life – A Poem

Life

 

An interlude between oblivion;

An unreal sandwich in time;

A sojourn of something.

 

Can it be real?

When it is gone

Did it ever exist?

 

When there are no memories

And no witnesses left,

No eyes to see

Or brains to record,

Will anything have existed at all?

 

In this capsule of time,

This bubble of reality,

We wrestle with eternity

And it pins us to the floor.

 

Opher 28.7.2018

 

 

I think I was in my metaphysical frame of mind the evening in which I wrote this. Somehow the sound of one hand clapping was smitten with the sounds of trees falling in the distant forest.

There are times when I am sure this life is a dream. When we are all gone and there is no sentient life left in the universe to sense its majesty or delight at its wonders can it still exist?

It is this egocentric thinking that spawns religions. We cannot believe that such wonders exist if not for our own benefit. That is the folly of humans.