Brooks Was Here
by V. Blake
the loss means less than the slight;
the slight less than the reasons.
the why isn't the point,
but the edge, and yet
as distant as god from doubt:
there is no hole where once you were.
just infinite ties to parallel lines,
extending in different directions.
forgive and forget
are words for people who know each other.
this one isn't a story.
this time there is truth in art.
i am not better for having known you.
i don't care if you could say the same.
Posted on 06/16/2014
Copyright © 2020 V. Blake
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 06/16/14 at 06:39 PM|
excellence was here too. the poem's first name. love the line about god being distant from doubt.
|Posted by Colleen Sperry on 06/17/14 at 09:56 AM|
|Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 06/17/14 at 04:12 PM|
A lament, poignant with a touch of bitterness I think.
|Posted by Jim Benz on 06/17/14 at 07:59 PM|
I suspect your first line is--more or less--missing an adverb, at least in its current rendition. But that seems suitably apt, perhaps even purposeful. Very interesting poem, Vince--dry, passionless and poignant all at once.
|Posted by Richard Vince on 06/18/14 at 11:22 PM|
So Was Red. "just infinite ties to parallel lines, extending in different directions" is particularly marvellous. sorry i'm currently insufficiently eloquent to express how much i enjoyed this poem.
|Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 06/25/14 at 11:25 PM|
Captivating piece of introspection and extrospection. Can certainly relate to this in a certain way.
|Posted by Paul Lastovica on 06/28/14 at 12:13 AM|
I went off on a tangent and kept correlating this to some afterlife scenario in which once dead and gone, we drift along a parallel strand until arriving at the next go-around. No better, no worse; a simple moving on to the next rendition of our self...