Your Poetry Dot Com - An Appeal to Meaning

Array ( [sid] => 155566 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => An Appeal to Meaning [time] => 2009-12-02 19:17:19 [hometext] => [bodytext] => I remember our midnight talks
of art and war,
sparkling as we sipped our wine
and posed on silk pillows
for invisible admirers.
I remember your crinkling smile
and the rumble of my own voice,
confident in my softened ingenuity,
confident in the protection humanity could offer.

What is real?
We surely had an answer -
scores of answers
ready to leap from our lips
as the ambition to impress
easily overtook
the ambition for reason.

Tonight there is no midnight;
no memories can be saved
by snapping hasty pictures.
Tonight dusk and dawn walk together,
and I like to flatter myself
and believe that it is me
they aim to spite -
reality is not real because I will it so.

The twilight sky is a wild and artless tapestry
which in this moment is more real to me
than the cement beneath my feet.

I admit my admiration is fleeting and fragile;
it must change loyalties often
or risk being swept beneath
my carefully applied indifference.
Yet, I eagerly mock your splendid squalor,
your filth that masquerades as a palace -
a hollow palace -
zinc pretending to taste like
a true copper penny.
I pretend as well,
though my lies are truer than yours -
for you think yourself as an ocean,
I know myself as a lake.

We cannot see the writing on the wall,
you and I,
only the vision of the bright young artist
allows us to feel its presence.
Perhaps the writing does not need
the approval of others
to understand its own beauty.
Perhaps if we continue
to sip our wine, and snap our pictures,
and laugh away our perpetual indecision,
it will keep us from faltering
for another shapeless day.

Perhaps it is enough.

[comments] => 3 [counter] => 207 [topic] => 73 [informant] => cetblue [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 10 [ratings] => 2 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => abstract ) Your Poetry Dot Com - An Appeal to Meaning

An Appeal to Meaning
Date: Wednesday, 2nd December 2009 @ 07:17:19 PM AEST
Topic: Sad Poetry

Contributed By: cetblue

I remember our midnight talks
of art and war,
sparkling as we sipped our wine
and posed on silk pillows
for invisible admirers.
I remember your crinkling smile
and the rumble of my own voice,
confident in my softened ingenuity,
confident in the protection humanity could offer.

What is real?
We surely had an answer -
scores of answers
ready to leap from our lips
as the ambition to impress
easily overtook
the ambition for reason.

Tonight there is no midnight;
no memories can be saved
by snapping hasty pictures.
Tonight dusk and dawn walk together,
and I like to flatter myself
and believe that it is me
they aim to spite -
reality is not real because I will it so.

The twilight sky is a wild and artless tapestry
which in this moment is more real to me
than the cement beneath my feet.

I admit my admiration is fleeting and fragile;
it must change loyalties often
or risk being swept beneath
my carefully applied indifference.
Yet, I eagerly mock your splendid squalor,
your filth that masquerades as a palace -
a hollow palace -
zinc pretending to taste like
a true copper penny.
I pretend as well,
though my lies are truer than yours -
for you think yourself as an ocean,
I know myself as a lake.

We cannot see the writing on the wall,
you and I,
only the vision of the bright young artist
allows us to feel its presence.
Perhaps the writing does not need
the approval of others
to understand its own beauty.
Perhaps if we continue
to sip our wine, and snap our pictures,
and laugh away our perpetual indecision,
it will keep us from faltering
for another shapeless day.

Perhaps it is enough.

This poem is Copyright © cetblue

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