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Prim and Improperness

Poetry By: CROmer

This piece was originally a journal entry that I converted into a blog. The tag at the top speaks briefly about what I thought the affect of this formal choice would be. Primarily, it is prose poetry that investigates the concepts of morality and choice.

Submitted:Mar 17, 2013    Reads: 4    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   

It's been at least a couple months since I've posted something largely inappropriate, a bit too personal and a bit too deep for Facebook. But as the form the written word is conveyed in affects the way it's received, a certain level of meaning is injected into these words as they take on the form of a blog. They stand at such an aggravated relation to the "prim and (im)proper" unspokens that guide conventional blogging that they risk serious blunder, or becoming diamonds in the rough, not sure which...
The other day, stress levels at work reached a critical point. The question was proposed within: to quit or not to quit? I could already envision myself strapping on my backpack a month early, heading off into the the purple and gold sunsets of the rustic Southwest, but I affirmed to myself that the "trick" is to be guided by reason, not by emotion. Indeed, I did have good reason to keep that timeclock ticking on my behalf. As true as this motto was and as appropriate its time and place, I had to consider its deeper significance, especially with regard to its impact on my life. Much like any moral threatens to defeat itself by approaching dogma, reason also fails to be an absolute light revealing the divine Path through life, for if we are solely guided by reason, we lose what is truly human in all of our pursuits. Perhaps, then, the answer lies not in the one or the other, but a balance, a void, a Tao, something we don't have the tools to adequately define, something that conceptually resists our very need to define and know; as a poet bends and breaks the formal properties of her very art in order to revive the soul of aesthetic expression while leaving just enough morsels, a breadcrumb trail of history so we can see from where she came, we can hardly see where we are headed without a box of Crayola crayons we call the imagination and the beautifully tender recklessness of a child's hands that, so freely, color outside the lines. Even then, we will never know Tomorrow, but to feel all the beauty, magnificence and truth present in a boundless flicker of the imagination, we perceive life, human existence, human consciousness in its most sublime of forms and meanings.
It's as if life becomes sad when we learn to color inside the lines and never bleed our colorful souls through those black bars again, never question it. We become complacent in life's "restricted freedom"- a freaky little maze we are told we may roam "freely" through- while never seeking the beyond; we may choose the colors to fill the images in our books; we may choose what color curtains to buy for our houses; but most of us never get beyond the trite freedom of choosing greens and reds for the images they fill and are so far from reading the world through a new book, Perspective only knows the blues. She has forgotten her boundless mind somewhere between the alphabet and a career.


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