Life Less Trying

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
dying is a way to live

Submitted: June 07, 2007

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Submitted: June 07, 2007

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Life Less Trying


If I tear pages
From this tome envisaged
As the eyeless dictations of sages gone
Long to far beyond reaches

Would I somehow more cripple
These hands so feverish
To blaspheme themselves?
(All God dammed up -
A plague that palsies over

Time.)  There is no time now
The second hand knows not
What the minute is doing
To my narrative

Not to give
The ending
-much needed-
Away into Zen pool's offing
I, a witness to the pallbearers
Bearing hard the pall
Of my

Self-offing, myself coughing
At the offering plate in

Fear.  There is fear now
Heavy curtained brow furrowing
Through tunnelled hours
In bomb shelter skelter
Held there
At the bottom
Of this at times timeless

Watchless being.  

And whether I place
This fear into my quiver
Or shiver and pull down the heavens
For-much needed-warmth
Is of no one's concern

Or my own

Only even in om
Many prod me to coming, going
Along my afflicted circuitry

And should anyone who loves me
Cast their sandals to the dusty left-behind
Desolations
And steady my tremor hand
And soothe my unarmoured head

Come, then
Though take heed
That most of the work
Is done

Though far from being finished

And if you are so inclined
To high mountain halls
And towering temples

Where we might have been
Where we might have been

Greeted as destiny
As proof there is a god
As proof there is no god
Except what we accept

As love.  Has love shown?  
If so then we've only to remain
Finding in each self a remnant of the other (like Measures
Of ceaseless music
In shell-shocked head)
And nothing more

So long as you don't mind that I breathe
So short as your mind hates to see

As for what afterthoughts linger
I only ask that you
Do not try
To heal me

And I, looking up into blue
Cry skying
Will deny that I
Even died

Trying.




By R P Webster

December 18, 2006


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