I awoke this morning
and picked up a worn copy of Emerson's essays,
a beloved and true book.
And I came across the lines --

"...the gypsies say,
'It is in vain to hang them
for they cannot die...'
The poets are thus liberating gods."

Maybe this is why
so many writers have such difficulty
with a world so spun out of control.
The expression
of living is necessary for them
and life itself is too hard.
That juxtaposition becomes tedious.

Perhaps that's why
so many writers of the past have met
with such tragic endings.
Do they find it easier then
to drown in bottles,
escaping a world that cannot contain them
in order to live on without the chore
of constant reflection and labor of breath?

They invade other bodies
and possess souls like demons
but bring gifts of angels instead -- words,
vision, perspectives that few really appreciate
but that the possessed cannot ignore.

They are like sirens,
beautiful and doomed, calling
transcendentalists to their lot
because they know wanderers will journey
to follow a mystical song,
leaving their footprints for others to find,
entertaining muses along the way.

09/15/2008

Posted on 09/16/2008
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