My sanctuaries are all gone.
They have been looted and pillaged,
Burned and broken,
Invaded by the uncouth, the filthy,
The senseless horde.
One by one, I have watched
As they were taken from me.
Now I linger in the rubble
Of what was once, to me, sacred,
Defiled now by those without compassion,
Without love or mercy.
Yet I am at peace.
My sanctuary awaits me.
Mine is the future
And even now, I am laying the bricks;
I am scraping the mortar
Of what shall be.
This, no one can destroy.
What I build this time is destiny itself.
It is the power of resolve, the invincibility of an idea,
And when it is complete, my enemies--
Those who would call themselves my friends--
Shall beat their impotent fists upon its walls
And curse me with every foul breath they can muster.
Yet I shall abide, at last, unencumbered:
Free from their wanton destruction;
Free from their beligerent disregard of truth;
Free from their meddling malice disguised as concern;
Free from their leeching of my every precious resource;
Free from their unconsciousness;
Free from their shackles of uniformity that strive to chain me down.
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questions. real questions. how do you build destiny itself? are ideas invincible? and don't we need them in spite of their beligerent ways, their meddling malice, their leeching, their unconsciousness, their shackled uniformity? don't we need them anyway?
ReplyDeletehowever, i know the dirty feeling by association and the desire to flee. i often think the only way i can live my true life is by being completely alone. however, a stone is just a stone, strong, ya, but what else? and so i wonder, is this a final creed, or a passing moment?
i wonder what your life looks like, this frustration you carry for those around you. i wonder what clothes you wear, what car you drive, what your step might be like, where do you drive in a day, what do you eat. do you smile alot? are you light at all? do you cry? and those around you, are they real in moments?
annie brought by the poem by Bukowski and this makes me think of it once again.
"What is terrible is not death but the lives people live or don't live up until their death. They don't honor their own lives, they piss on their lives. They shit them away. Dumb fuckers. They concentrate too much on fucking, movies, money, family, fucking. Their minds are full of cotton. They swallow God without thinking, they swallow country without thinking. Soon they forget how to think, they let others think for them. Their brains are stuffed with cotton. They look ugly, they talk ugly, they walk ugly. Play them the great music of the centuries and they can't hear it. Most people's deaths are a sham. There's nothing left to die."
— Charles Bukowski
xo
erin
that is an amazing poem, thanks for sharing
ReplyDeletethe people in my life are not all that bad really, just, normal... and at times normal is enough to infuriate me. I yearn for relationships with unique people, people with the capacity to inspire through their actions, people with the desire to achieve their dreams, people who make me pause and breathe in and exhale just because I suddenly realize that this person is beautiful in a way I could never before have imagined. Most of the people I know are the types that advocate normality and do whatever they can to blend in, to fade out, to become immersed in the blissful oblivion of a life that means nothing more than the endless repetition of a few mundane tasks and ideas. I suppose that is what brought this poem out.
Anyway, as always, your comments are poignant though.
And, I wear old clothes, mostly jeans and t-shirts of various bands/musicians (led zeppelin, jimmy hendrix, billy joel, the doors, the beatles, etc.); I drive a '77 camero; I don't actually go out much and usually if I do I just walk to one of the coffee shops near my appartment (except for driving to work and back); I eat whatever I can manage to cook that is also edible (just kidding I'm actually a good cook :P); I do not smile a lot; I am light at times, usually when I am alone and contemplating; I rarely cry anymore although such was not always the case.
finite empathy - you have me smiling so largely, and robert's doing a yes to your t-shirts and car. ha! but truly, to see you more and see you move as you do in your unique ways and knowing of the depth within - you know, this gives me hope, great hope, that there is a wealth going on inside of others that i am not recognizing. i share your desire to be surrounded so by inspired /inspirational /impassioned people. and it's hard to find them, true. that's one of the most beautiful and beneficial aspects to blogging and why i am so pleased to have made your acquaintance:)
ReplyDeleteplus, i'm a voyeur and love to see into people and their lives and so you have both honoured me with a response and satisfied some of my voyeuristic ways.
xo
erin
thanks erin
ReplyDeletehaha, about the voyeuristic bit, I totally agree though. sometimes I imagine what it would be like if when we died we became ghosts that could just float around and watch people still living. I would definitely be content with that. I'd like to watch the lives of people that lived completely differently than me... an olympic gymnist or a travelling musician... or follow the life of somebody that became great just to see how simple they started off as...
i came back to read - thought perhaps i had missed a poem - read this one anew.
ReplyDeletei saw a hand letting go of a balloon. saw you quiet and simply becoming, allowing, you.
xo
erin
there is no better way to have expressed this.. every word in it's own tailored space.
ReplyDeletethanks lines, glad you liked it
ReplyDelete