A poem for a friend's wedding day long past but well remembered. Both of them are the sort who will joyfully and consciously grow old together, falling deeper in love every day. Such a life blessing exists for those who truly value it and themselves, therefore hope springs eternal.
For My Best
Friend On Her Wedding Day
There is no
shame in luxury,
or laziness,
or sloth,
when time to
practise them is wise,
and benefits
you both.
We work and
slave and struggle
so to keep
our basic things,
for we
deserve everything,
all riches
owned by kings.
Yet we don’t
deserve a scrap of bread,
nor the
right for it to sing.
We will eat
when others starve,
and live, while
others die.
The honest are
sent to the chopping block
while we
escape, and lie.
There is no
earning,
no reward,
no deserving
what we make.
There’s no
difference between what we give,
and what we
really take.
Struggle has
no meaning
other than
that to survive.
And in the
act of struggling,
I forget
just how to live.
Struggle is
for status,
and status
is for fools.
In my life’s
Swiss Army knife,
it’s the
stupidest of tools.
So every
action that you take
make
conscious,
and with
love.
Evil is not
in the vice,
but
intemperance thereof.
No comments:
Post a Comment