Watermark by Charlie Morgan
WATERMARK
An impression made by a depression.
A mark of position by its disposition.
On a pole: the water's height.
On paper seen through the light,
its weight; therefore, its might.
(It's nothing to me since I'm no tree
awaiting to give my life for free
except the cost of living herbaceously.)
So, when looking into the mirror of a prince
and seeing a jackass, why do I wince?
Is the pain more a reflection
of my blissful projection,
or a sobering detection
of my woeful direction?
Is that, then, the watermark of me?
And if so, do I stop and cease to be?
Perhaps carry on foolishly
hoping that giants are really
just normal folk who see
better by standing on me?
Or am I being the most of what's best,
or the least of all the rest?
Is my Self being true as Socrates posits
or locked away in a stale, dingy closet?
Unable to change...
or even rearrange
the broken pieces
of what once was?
04/03/2003 Posted on 04/03/2003 Copyright © 2024 Charlie Morgan
Member Comments on this Poem |
Posted by Agnes Eva on 04/05/03 at 04:13 AM fascinating introspective piece, though I'd like to see the initial dual imagery carried through more metaphorically to the self |
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