For this fuzzy old raisin of a brain, this poem keeps being relevant every time I start reading something on Facebook. So, I keep reposting it, writing it a bit first because there always seems to be something that I missed the last time I revised it. One of my favorite poems. Also, I found a picture from 2 years or so ago that really seems to fulfill the visual needs of this poem . . . P.S. Again, if the art is to small to read the poem off it, click on the image and it will enlarge . . . a little.
Lighter Than
Gravity
I’m sure you understand
I’m sure you understand
how unnerving
it is to . . . change,
to feel your
body, your thoughts,
your already
oddly shaped being
transforming into
some . . . thing!
Some
unmentionable . . . thing!
Something you
never, ever
dreamed of
becoming, some . . . thing
you never
wished to be.
My friends
(those very few that I still have)
keep telling me
not to worry,
“CHANGE is inevitable, we CHANGE
everyday, from the day we’re born
we CHANGE, we all CHANGE
we must CHANGE and . . .”
Okay, if I MUST
. . . convert, I hope it’s not to dirt.
I hate dirt. Pushed
around the whole day on
by any clumsy
breeze that comes along,
or stuck for
all eternity to the endless
bottom of a
shoe. What kind of existence
is that? And when
it rains? You become . . . MUD!
And I hate mud…
even more than dirt!
But if I must, IF
you say my resurrection . . . MUST
be akin to earth
let me become dust.
No, STARdust . . . YES, glittery bits of
cosmic grit
which wander
gypsy like between
barrooms,
streetlamps and . . . GALAXIES!
Yes, STARdust! That’s what I’ll be.
That some . . .
thing that’s ever so
lighter and
kinder than gravity
has ever been to
me.
Woodie 4-24-12 (rewrite
o3-26-13,
o7-2o-16, o1-o4-19)
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