(For Josh, who commented graciously on my poem,
"Friday Blessings")
You see, this whole thing
About distances
Is not even material nor physical.
Neither does this come
Around in circles
The way eternal time
Grips us so, holds us hostage
From here to there
From now on and in the future.
In reality, boundaries lead us
To crucial crossings where there
Truth begins as always,
This truth about who we are,
Beings all heavy with everyday chaos,
Personal and/or public
As is the case with poems
We write with our spurting blood
In all the vibrant verses
Or what we take them to be
To account all the potent energies
That fail us sometimes,
That betray us in places
We search for the metaphors
Or another spirit unlike us
Or another tale of woe and awe
And wonder, the tale enthralling
Us to go on and move on
And look no further to keep on
Writing that which liberates us
From the prospect for a life
That promises pain and pathos,
The pain to keep us less than alive,
The pathos to keep us less than dead.
These are the estrangements,
Traitors all to what we can be,
Connivers with the evils of distance.
With our poems, we create
A universe fresh and new
And we all reside here,
Poets and dreamers
Visionaries and prophets
Rebels and peacemakers
And all those who are just
With words, with healing words.
Aurelio S. Agcaoili
December 9, 2004
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