Back after a long absence. For me, the silence has been thick with depression and struggle; for many of you, I suspect it has been something of a relief.
Two years ago I brought out a volume of poetry. It was self-published since no corporation is foolish enough to publish poetry anymore. Most of the poems - some 450 pages of them - are love poetry, conceived in fits of passion which I can scarcely remember now, and which no longer seem to me of any importance.
Since I suppose that my volume of poems will never see the light of day, I have decided to publish one here from time to time, in case anyone is interested. I will begin with this one, which, because it is not about love, is uncharacteristically upbeat...
endstart
what came before endures behind
was and is are merely states of mind
nothing that is gone is lost
everything renews, and in December’s frost
are memories of dews to which we woke
in May from dreams that presaged
the dawning of the day that only death can bring;
stars explode the night in fireworks
to light our way through time, and time
returns upon itself in every birth of mind;
that which was hid is evermore revealed
and what was sealed in lips or tombs
will speak again within the wombs of earth
there is no dearth of hope so long as soul
can clap its hands and sing, there is no end
of anything so long as there is spring
