What is it Going to Be?

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Abstract

er times I am the fire raging wild, fanned by the winds of all the corners of the world. When it is a quiet day: passing slowly, ponderously, mild. If the World decides to make a fool of me. The Sun shines through a thin cloud on a good day. Unrelenting rays of destruction on the bad. Can’t think of whyever we would ever be sad. Fanning the mad fires about what they all whisper Optimistic like only good could ever happen cast into a sky on fire without an anchor. Flying high, nothing to ever pull us under. Floating no aim, snapping at anything sudden. Working hard, going great, growing gently. I can't wait, I’m good enough now, why must I wait? We could be so much more if you would on

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ly forget about being late. But I’m scared of being left behind, tooth and claw. It’ll all be fine if we remember we are two. Half in the air, half on the ground, everywhere between. Sides of one universe, spread wide, stars seen. Pulled apart many ways but also collided together.This poem was written at work, in an office before the new plague. The choices swung. On one side: work for the firm, get the promotion to keep at the capitalist dream; On the other, nurture my children, watch them grow, actually get to know them gently. It felt at the time that these two ideas were incompatible. Slowly I began to see that both these actions had one concept in common — me.</article></body>

A short poem on the duality of Life — to grow relentless or take a break and meditate?

Sometimes we are the river, deeply flowing and cool over river stones. Other times I am the fire raging wild, fanned by the winds of all the corners of the world. When it is a quiet day: passing slowly, ponderously, mild. If the World decides to make a fool of me. The Sun shines through a thin cloud on a good day. Unrelenting rays of destruction on the bad. Can’t think of whyever we would ever be sad. Fanning the mad fires about what they all whisper Optimistic like only good could ever happen cast into a sky on fire without an anchor. Flying high, nothing to ever pull us under. Floating no aim, snapping at anything sudden. Working hard, going great, growing gently. I can't wait, I’m good enough now, why must I wait? We could be so much more if you would only forget about being late. But I’m scared of being left behind, tooth and claw. It’ll all be fine if we remember we are two. Half in the air, half on the ground, everywhere between. Sides of one universe, spread wide, stars seen. Pulled apart many ways but also collided together.

This poem was written at work, in an office before the new plague. The choices swung. On one side: work for the firm, get the promotion to keep at the capitalist dream; On the other, nurture my children, watch them grow, actually get to know them gently. It felt at the time that these two ideas were incompatible. Slowly I began to see that both these actions had one concept in common — me.