07-15-2014, 08:16 AM
*This is a poem titled "This" by Ralph Angel, a decorated poet who teaches at my university. I love this poem. If you have the means, you should pick up his newest book of poetry titled "Your Moon".
Today, my love,
leaves are thrashing the wind
just as pedestrians are erecting again the buildings of this drab
forbidding city,
and our lives, as I lose track of them,
are the lives of others derailing in time and
getting things done.
Impossible to make sense of any one face
or mouth, though
each distance
is clear, and you are miles
from here.
Let your pure
space crowd my heart,
that we might stay awhile longer amid the flying
debris.
This moment,
I swear it,
isn't going anywhere.
Today, my love,
leaves are thrashing the wind
just as pedestrians are erecting again the buildings of this drab
forbidding city,
and our lives, as I lose track of them,
are the lives of others derailing in time and
getting things done.
Impossible to make sense of any one face
or mouth, though
each distance
is clear, and you are miles
from here.
Let your pure
space crowd my heart,
that we might stay awhile longer amid the flying
debris.
This moment,
I swear it,
isn't going anywhere.
"Where there are roses we plant doubt.
Most of the meaning we glean is our own,
and forever not knowing, we ponder."
-Fernando Pessoa
Most of the meaning we glean is our own,
and forever not knowing, we ponder."
-Fernando Pessoa