... between achievement and sin <br />forgetting and forgiving. <br /> <br />Maybe Beckett saw it when he killed himself <br />in the creaking cathedral of our dreams <br />or Eliot ran with it unknowing – <br />as if that might be true – <br />up the corridors of some chilling paradox <br />and found More there, <br />not hanging or headless or chained, <br />forfeited in pointless pleasing power games, <br />but running out, demented <br /> <br />from a quiet place filled with violence, <br />no certainties, and maybe peace <br />for the few who’ve broken time <br />by learning not to ask the questions that nag, <br />not blinded by the dust of information <br />blown into their on-line eyes, <br />nor pious with the corrosion <br />of assumed intent <br />or maybe bludgeoned into it instead <br />by ten million years of ill fitting dna. <br /> <br />Who among us dancing in the square of life <br />through all the movements that surround <br />touched by everything and yet untouched <br />would not have wanted to be chosen <br />but would have failed at the brink of blood <br />and not crossed <br /> <br />into the murder of self <br />for even that kind of glory <br />given time to think it through? <br /> <br />Only the few perhaps <br />who cannot find a way <br />into their own world <br /> <br />and their voices come and go like darkness <br />out of polite and foaming despair...<br /><br />Byepolar Bayer<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-green-hill/
