Trying to Understand Is Worth It
Because I knew the truth,
the world lay open to me,
strange as it all seemed.
The evening was aglow, I remember,
with possibilities;
the trees had lost their leaves
just as I was gaining mine,
and the etchings in the fading sky
were dissipating like distant smoke.
But even in our clearest moments,
we see ourselves like
shadows on reflections;
the colors of our joys and
attendant griefs, swirling around,
passing into the dim like
shadows on the lake
The largest imaginations
Begin in the smallest rooms:
From local water, sun, and dirt
The brightest flower blooms.
But “harrowing” works in several ways.
We have so far to go —
The largest imaginations
Still need much care
To grow
There is a history, untold,
Of paradise and passions bred;
And so we spend our living days
Among the houses of the dead
Beneath the selfsame sky they knew,
We walk their paths, and feel their souls:
For all that was, is yet to be,
And written on our own hearts’ scrolls
There was a story, long ago,
Of paradise and brilliance shed,
And so, these hours in the sun,
Where blue desires led to red
As time goes to infinity,
So we must go as humankind;
For all that was, is yet to be,
Our past and future, intertwined
Of paradise, there’s much to learn —
Like knowledge, softly shaken, in its turn
Sorrow is busy teaching empathy now.
There are classes daily, and nightly —
And we’re all enrolled already:
We just may not
Know it yet
To learn, to know
To reach, to grow
To pass where others
Fear to go
To find the edge
To push beyond
To listen taut
And then
Respond
New knowledge needed…
There is so much I do not know
Or do not understand;
And knowledge seeps in slowly, like
A sluice that’s full of sand
For I would take in more; I find
Much I have is outmoded —
The sluice I have’s not working right,
It’s like it’s overloaded —
The lake that I’ve become is old,
It really needs improving;
But I must unjam something, so
To keep the water
Moving
Things often display patterns —
Many things come in a sequence,
We learn this while very young;
It’s not just letters,
It’s an alphabet —
Like night leads into day,
And spring to summer, fall to winter;
These patterns we can see
And don’t forget
Except, I think, the type of sequence
Called “a consequence”;
This type of thing we often
Don’t recall
Like knowing that lies lead to lies
And distrust, once uncovered;
And that self-centered pride
Leads to a fall
