This poem is wonderful. The cadence reminds one of the motion and feel of swimming underwater, sweeping, dreamy and fluid. The impression of your words and structure can also lead to breaking through - the barrier of surface to immersion - the barrier of being lost to letting go - the barrier of carrying on and doing good. I was expecting something more dark about 9/11 today, but this is so much better - transformative for us to commemorate by taking what has happened and “learning to see underwater”. Thank you.
That's EXACTLY what I wanted. One deep breath, paddling through the thickness of the fluid before finally finding breath again. I am so NOT surprised, but so pleasantly thrilled, you found this.
I know this is too much for here, but I did write a poem to commemorate the 25th of 9/11. It impacted so many, not only here, but overseas. I was living in Germany at the time. I remember the tears and expressions of sympathy from many Germans to us when that tragedy occurred. But move in we must, and what I was left with was the difference between love and hate. I thought about that again and wrote this poem. I ll leave out the construct I wrote to create it.
This poem is wonderful. The cadence reminds one of the motion and feel of swimming underwater, sweeping, dreamy and fluid. The impression of your words and structure can also lead to breaking through - the barrier of surface to immersion - the barrier of being lost to letting go - the barrier of carrying on and doing good. I was expecting something more dark about 9/11 today, but this is so much better - transformative for us to commemorate by taking what has happened and “learning to see underwater”. Thank you.
That's EXACTLY what I wanted. One deep breath, paddling through the thickness of the fluid before finally finding breath again. I am so NOT surprised, but so pleasantly thrilled, you found this.
I know this is too much for here, but I did write a poem to commemorate the 25th of 9/11. It impacted so many, not only here, but overseas. I was living in Germany at the time. I remember the tears and expressions of sympathy from many Germans to us when that tragedy occurred. But move in we must, and what I was left with was the difference between love and hate. I thought about that again and wrote this poem. I ll leave out the construct I wrote to create it.
Emptiness and Action
I cannot be warmed
by silent love,
but I can freeze against
the shadow of your hate.
When you say, “I feel your love,”
the word you use is feel—
as if it were a coat that you could wear,
a safe room you could inhabit,
the quiet luxury of a setting sun,
the passive gold of being in a state.
And yet, raw fabric is a state.
Stone and sky are states.
To do nothing alters nothing;
and the supposed affection
locked inside our ribcage
is just a quiet clock
ticking in an empty house.
It cannot feed a mouth.
It won’t shelter us from storms.
It does not show the way.
It leaves the world untouched.
Love is a gift made entirely of hands—
if it does not weave, it cannot wear.
If it does not sow, it cannot feed.
If it does not build, it cannot shelter.
If it does not print, it cannot teach.
But the dark requires no labor.
To ruin a garden, only walk away.
To starve a child, only look away.
Hate is the thief that steals the oxygen,
the parasite thriving on wintered hands,
the silence leaving us no peace—
born of subtraction, bred of absence.
It does not need to strike a blow
to cause us pain;
it only needs to halt, to deny,
to harden into a statue of indifference,
and let the cold do all the heavy lifting.
Love is the seed to sow and reap.
Love is the watch to keep.
Love is the labor to provide.
Love is the light brought to our eyes.
Love is a choice:
of action
over
indifference.