LifeLines

 A person's time on Earth is spent
 Not in a straight line, but a bent
 Progression of trajectories.

 One first is spider-silk on breeze,
 Threads set adrift by parents who
 Have minimal control or clue
 Of what genetic forces they
 Release during a roll-in-hay
 Unconsciously conceptive act
 Of passion, love or simple fact.
 (A crass process to contemplate,
 But one which ne'ertheless our fate
 Condemns or blesses us to try
 If our own line is not to die.)

 So starts a life: a random mote,
 Potential energy afloat
 In seas of possibility.

 But soon what seemed completely free
 Has settled, put down roots, and grown
 Into a pattern, flesh and bone:
 A bonsai sculpture, shaped by force;
 Limb, twig, and leaf pursue a course
 Defined by the environment
 Plus countless influences sent
 From families and societies.

 Now in the forest of these trees
 Which constitute the living world
 So many plants are crippled, curled
 Into burnt matchstick shadows of
 What could have flourished given love,
 More tender care, and fortune kind.

 Some lucky few, however, find
 Themselves well-placed in soil and light
 To thrive and grow in beauty bright.

 Then at their death they sublimate
 Into a subtle, diffuse state
 Of deeds and words, or flame and air.
 We breathe their thoughts and sense their care
 As gifts which they have left behind ---
 Crystalline structures of the mind.

• Saturday, December 09, 2000 at 11:18:44 (EST) = Datetag20001209

TopicPoetry

(correlates: AppearVersusIs, OnGrace, PreemptiveDisclosure, ...)