youths immortal awakenings

Discussion in 'Poetry Realm' started by Shit with corn in it IRM'S BITCH, Oct 25, 2005.

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  1. We have all walked down the road and seen someone less fortunate
    and in that instance we have thought about our own families, and escaped
    to them and felt relieved in the fact that we are not like the others.
    We feel like our own, and we are proud of the fact. So the eyes turn away
    and we merrily go on our way feeling infallible.
    And as children, we cling to our unbreakable fathers,
    and sigh sweet relief as we sit in the shadow of him glowing.
    And at school, we don't feel like some of the other kids,
    it's like a comfort zone of inner knowing.
    The boy who had the buck teeth and the smelly clothes
    we did not know what it was to be like him,
    or so we thought as we caught a glimpse of our higher self,
    a picture of health, a better reflection, in a different mirror.
    But as one grows and sees his father break down in tears
    he who was the sturdy rock of progression, faultering
    it is then, we start to see everyone as ourselves
    not just as people named upon shelves, likely to cave in
    before us. We see the man in the street take two steps
    with his walking frame,then stop to catch his breath,
    dragging his heavy feet on the pavement.
    Two messengers of travel becoming two burdens of age,
    We see ourselves becoming him, and feel sorry
    for seeing him, then we become him.
    We watch the crowds whistle past him like the wind
    trying to forget him. But he doesn't forget the past
    and how it moved so fast and amounted to this.
    before his stars and their immortalness
    burnt out and began to reminisce, when dreams
    were things wonders were made of tenderly,
    and old age would never come to be.
    But now my Dad whom I dearly love
    shows me he is flesh and blood,
    and not the man I can jump inside to hide from life,
    like I once did to escape and make
    myself and him higher than life itself.
    The old man shows me reality,
    the darker marching mortal clarity
    that only hopes it ages without pain,
    and the boy with the smelly clothes now has a name
    he shows me a place poised with his pain
    The pain of being the same -- and I feel ashamed
    that I could not love him like a brother.
    test
  2. UFO the Phoenix

    UFO the Phoenix I DONT BELIEVE IN ALIENS!

    Joined:
    Aug 10, 1999
    Messages:
    2,986
    O-h-m-y-g-o-o-d-n-e-s-s

    you are easliy becoming my favorite poet up in this spot you have never cease to amaze me in all the work you post....thats a huge accomplishment in its own.....

    this poem was a personal awakening for myself and that was powerful

    We have all walked down the road and seen someone less fortunate
    and in that instance we have thought about our own families, and escaped
    to them and felt relieved in the fact that we are not like the others.
    We feel like our own, and we are proud of the fact. So the eyes turn away
    and we merrily go on our way feeling infallible.
    And as children, we cling to our unbreakable fathers,

    ^so true....this notion of clinging onto our fathers....all thru out our childhood maybe even earliy teens?....SO true....and that first line really sets the stage of the coldness that rest in all of our hearts...."GLAD I'm NOT THAT GUY"....no matter what you going thru someone has it worst blah blah....ya know the cliche....but I like how you look deeper into this idea instead of going with everyone else

    and sigh sweet relief as we sit in the shadow of him glowing.
    And at school, we don't feel like some of the other kids,
    it's like a comfort zone of inner knowing.
    The boy who had the buck teeth and the smelly clothes
    we did not know what it was to be like him,
    or so we thought as we caught a glimpse of our higher self,
    a picture of health, a better reflection, in a different mirror.
    But as one grows and sees his father break down in tears
    he who was the sturdy rock of progression, faultering
    it is then, we start to see everyone as ourselves


    ^no joke our fathers are our HEROS....for real they can do no wrong....until life comes around and gives us a reality check....lesson 101....LIFE IS NOT EASY....that part about watching our fathers break down into tears is real....I remember seeing my father cry...(only ONCE in my entire life) when he heard the news that his dad had passed away....it broke his heart and I was just stun to see my hero shattered by the news....it was a personal awakening that nothing is promised

    not just as people named upon shelves, likely to cave in
    before us. We see the man in the street take two steps
    with his walking frame,then stop to catch his breath,
    dragging his heavy feet on the pavement.
    Two messengers of travel becoming two burdens of age,
    We see ourselves becoming him, and feel sorry
    for seeing him, then we become him.

    ^Again you bring this homeless person back the person we avoid on the street corner....I love how you turn the mirror around.....we are all connected like it our not....just like back with slavery if one man is not free then the entire race isnt free ya know....I guess the same idea applys here.....we all share the heavy burdens of life...nobody gets away pain free

    We watch the crowds whistle past him like the wind
    trying to forget him. But he doesn't forget the past
    and how it moved so fast and amounted to this.
    before his stars and their immortalness
    burnt out and began to reminisce, when dreams
    were things wonders were made of tenderly,
    and old age would never come to be.
    But now my Dad whom I dearly love
    shows me he is flesh and blood,


    ^I dunno why but this made me think of how some of our dreams are immortal....nobody can kill them....except perhaps ourselves.....this is a very complex part followed by the simple realization of seeing yourself in your father

    and not the man I can jump inside to hide from life,
    like I once did to escape and make
    myself and him higher than life itself.
    The old man shows me reality,
    the darker marching mortal clarity
    that only hopes it ages without pain,
    and the boy with the smelly clothes now has a name
    he shows me a place poised with his pain
    The pain of being the same -- and I feel ashamed
    that I could not love him like a brother.

    ^that last line is soooooooooooooo true....I often catch myself doing this and feel VERY ashamed that I cant love the next man like a brother NO MATTER what is his downfalls....shouldnt let that be the judgements...I remember at a poetry reading I attended last year there was this homeless guy who went up and read a jaw dropping poem he wrote called redlighttimegreenlight just about the urban city life living on the streets and his point of view on us running to and fro like busy lab rats....it was such a mind blowing experience it remained a part of me more then the other guest poets and main event of that night....sort of like this poem

    wonderful
    test
  3. Hi UFO, I really appreciate the feedback and im pleased that it offered an awakening, that is what I intended as the influence of the poem was just that. Your run down was by large what I had hoped others would get from it.

    Thanks again,
    Brit
    test
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