why do we do this?
we do it because we love it.
this dance of words...
courage hurled upon a page,
persuading ourselves
despite our constant parade of humanity
that calamity of life is wonderful
amid those fragile shells
we tiptoe around ~
the silent sounding thoughts;
the echoes in our collective head…
that secretly dread the day when east meets west
without apology and we are facing
that omniscient horizon.
what will we find then?
when time no longer matters and the
days are scattered out before us
without that thin line that grounded us along?
how will our rhymes sound then
amid the babbling den of everything?
or nothing?
I’m wondering? will the temptation arise
to double back within the loop of space
erasing all the waiting from before and
seize the day’s open door of opportunity
in that stunning gift of frail human possibility
once we finally grow and know….
why we do this?
I wrote this of course about writing, and the collected words I feel compelled to arrange and rearrange all the time. But the image that always comes to mind when I read this poem is vintage typewriters. I have one vintage typewriter, but would love to have another--especially a color.
Grace Light's lovely name reflects her really interesting blog called Poetic Home that combines the idea of living with poetry nicely. She describes her blog as dedicated to poetic interior design, and that's certainly the kind of space I crave. I also love she has a whole category devoted to "typewriter love."
If any of you love and live with vintage typewriters, show me the way.
