Vision Poem by Gary Witt
Vision
A gentle hand over our eyes,
Death’s meager comfort is its certitude;
Its one true lasting pain found
In festering questions shouted down the hall:
Death’s when, how, why, whether.
An ending or beginning?
Eternal silence or ethereal portal?
Continuation of everlasting energy?
Mere dissipation of chemicals bound together,
For now, by fire and electricity?
A flame too soon extinguished,
A circuit abruptly broken,
Separating current from content,
Leaving questions rising
Like smoke from the breath of a match.
Our own true lasting pain found
In flailing certitude.
And our true solace, our genuine joy,
The simple resolve to see.
Your 'Vision' is the same one I saw in Bukowski's 'Red Mercedes.' There he bangs on the car's window and threatens the driver who has just cut him off trying to get a parking space at a horse racing track. When the female passenger hands the driver a gun from the glove box, 'I walked off/toward the/clubhouse/it looked/like a damned good card/that/day/all I had to do/was/be there.'
Not with a bang or a whimper but with a simple truth... uplifting, calming, almost tender; and visionary. (Of course that HAD to be said) . :) t x
This is beautiful, Gary. Your description is comforting and affirming.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/19/2024 3:32:57 PM # 1.0.0.1119
loved this write......your simple resolve to see!