As We Each Walk Away

As we each walk away

As we each walk away from the other, smaller we become
Until it is no longer any bother, walking farther apart.
That which binds, the social adhesive, is a matter of presence.
Not the words, not the opinions, nor any sentiment makes us cohesive.
Walk away, depart at speed, flee while you may and populate your newsfeed.
The Lord God walked through the garden in the cool of the day.
Eve and Adam hid. Shadows provided comfort. Fear commanded and now weaklings obey.
Do you understand, grasp at all, the essence of The Fall?
Alienation is a choice, hiding is an option, subservience is an attitude but life is no caption – written on a fake page, perishing in a manufactured moment – born of your rage… against the light, against the principles of right.
So now is the time, as you inhabit your optical illusion, to banish the confusion, of objects moving away becoming smaller. They only appear so. You do not really change once the motion kicks in. But the whole of life is captured in the exchange, in the meeting of those who are strange, because they dare to embrace life, rather than manufactured strife.
If you have nothing interesting to say then you may as well…
be on your way.
But if not lean in, brighten the day. Your choice…
Or perhaps, just maybe, others will leave you be.
©Alex Brocklehurst 2021

 

When we try to define the essence of poetry we may start from a place of negation such as ‘not prose’.

Alternatively, we may think of ‘not literal’ or ‘non-factual’. We may associate it with the inspirational side of life, or the mystical or hard to express, ‘ineffable’. Poetry maybe all of those things or none of those things. Whichever way we seek to understand or approach it, it always tells a story. This is why I call it storied verse.

There is no right way to tell a story. Yet sometimes, we cannot tell ours, unless we do so poetically. Every poem ever produced is a story of some moment that was born and which aspired to live forever, beyond the decay of the utterance of its words.

Here, in my poetic writings, I seek to give eternity space within which to witness itself, reflected in one of its children’s frame of experience. Here is your opportunity to overhear eternity’s song to itself, through one of its vessels of clay.

My hope is that eternity will meet with you on the way and show you a story that you had never imagined existed. A place called home, beyond the decay of each earthly moment.

Alex


Image by Lars_Nissen from Pixabay

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