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Array
(
[sid] => 48271
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => The Innermost Room
[time] => 2004-05-19 17:28:06
[hometext] => A symbolic poem and the longest poem of all that I have written. 2/26/96
[bodytext] => The fog slowly fades as my dream begins. The picture becomes just clear. My eyes focus on the many images that pass before me, like a camera focussing and a shutter blinking; I take in the entire view. I stand at the edge of the ocean. I can see its bottom clearly pure clear water, no deeper than ankle deep. Two boats sit near the shore; there are no people on board. There are no fish in the water. There are no birds in the sky. How can an ocean be so vast and have such little life in it and such little depth? I walk into the forest where the mountain talks to the tree. What strangers they are. Aren't there supposed to be birds in those nests? Aren't there supposed to be hungry chicks to feed? Can you tell me what has happened to them? Why do they exist in passivity? Futher still by the river, atleast here theres something to see; the lion still hunts the deer but it is not for him to eat. He kills him in merciless fashion; he did not keep watch with his eyes. The others ran off with out warning. Others just watched as he died. Upstream the river was living. The water beat against the strong rocks. The salmon swam hard against the current, jumping high up into the air; their bodies doing acrobatics some into the paws of the bear. "We must go back up the river, we must get to where we were born" I hear the pleading in their squirming. I hear the longing in their death. I hear the triumph in their offspring. I hear fulfillment in their last breath. They are doing what they were made for: spawning and dying they are, in the place where they were created, if that is what it must be called. And onward still to the heated land where replenishing waters do not reach. A desolate place of thirst and death. Hard lessons it doth teach. Everyone is a hunter here; everyone skilled in the art of scavenging meals off his brother or making a meal of him too. And after all of this; all these years of ponder, all this traveling inland, I reach that place of origin. High walls of stone towering, shadows lurking, beacons breaking very few make it here indeed and the walls stop me from going futher, but I must find a way in. And what do I find when I get there? That, who I am, that longing for friendship, for purpose for meaning, that searching for belonging and for a new beginning? Where everything is as clear as glass, worth the whole trip indeed and dare I say much further. The whole world is transformed from old to new, like darkness to light like midnight to dawn, and the rhythmic beat of music transpires quenching that lonely dry land and ships sail with people onboard and every creature lives in harmony; no predator, no prey, but all working together each one in its place. Every corner lighted and filled. Every ocean vast and deep filled with life to sustain other lands, other worlds. No winter, no dessert, but all in harmony. Light and life and purpose spinning on its axis around the sun in its simple world of complexity. Trusting in its abundance of blessings for all who visit from far off places. And I stand on its summit watching the sun shine so brightly from within. A little rain now and then, a rainbow after every storm light shining in all the windows of my inner room. Edited 5/19/2004 For those who wish to know the deeper meaning of this poem read my journal entry "On The Innermost Room" [comments] => 4 [counter] => 171 [topic] => 21 [informant] => Archie [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 8 [ratings] => 2 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => Lifepoems )
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