Two poems for the price of one.

It seems like ages since my last blog entry so I’m going to do a 2 for 1 offer to make up for lost time. I’ve written two new poems in the last few weeks and they’re both going in this one entry.
They’re going together because they both deal with similar ideas and sentiments.

The first is a description of a courtroom in which our attempts to excuse ourselves from our own decisions are sitting under judgement from an authority higher even that truth. We know that the judge is higher than truth because it is truth that the lawyer unsuccessfully hinges his argument on. I opted for a slightly naive sounding rhythm and rhyme structure for the piece because it adds a feeling of inevitability to the way it sounds when I read it.

The second is inspired by the times when I am tempted to think that the trials of life are at least partly to blame for my lack of resoluteness. It ends on a slightly more positive note with a Kierkegaardian leap of faith into the unknown which is really all that we can do when faced with the utter loneliness of existence. The final stanza in iambic pentameter was fun to write. I can see why the great bard was so fond of using it – expect more of it from me in the future.

________________________________________________________________________________________________

What to say when all is said

And answers, in the sinners seat,

Sit silent at the Judges feet,

Their zombie presence like the living dead.

 

A lawyer makes his final plea:

That answers may yet turn out true;

That there is yet much work to do;

That in the end the truth will set us free.

 

But no amount of argument

Can ever have the final word,

For all is said and all is heard

And we still wait for final judgement.

________________________________________________________________________________________________

If only streets were paved with gold,

And clouds of Colgate white

In Bombay Sapphire skies

Were more than lovely lies,

Then maybe this damned emptiness

Would be a little easier on my soul.

 

If only life were not a strain,

And you and I could see

The final end of pain;

If we could eat the fruit and be like God,

Then I could know that life were not in vain.

 

But here I stand and that is all I know;

It is not given to the blind to see.

So take my hand and show me where to go;

I’ll leap and pray that someone catches me.

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