3.1.11 - 1. Poem 3.1.11

3.1.11

What

Well, it is a long list now

Of things never to be said

I can’t ever say them to myself

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How to be honest

With emotion

How to be foolish

With reason

It’s untied

Futility

Frivolity

Why the fool dances so

In tatters of wisdom

Coruscant corundums

See that tree

How old it must be

It must fall one day

Maybe in storm

And maybe in progress

And maybe from the burden of living

And maybe to make way

For what

Something else that grows

And becomes

And has to make way

Again and again

So, I love

To make way

For love

To become old

To fall in storm

To propagate

To cycle

But, see, where comes

Your face in all this

That I turn from

Now

The reason for eternal