WHAT IS WORTH SAYING?

WHAT IS WORTH SAYING?

What is worth saying, between the cradle and hearse?
What is worth mouthing to a deaf universe?

Can we be appreciative, can we love philosophy?
Swing, monkey, get out of my sight,
Cleave with your might to your primitive tree.

What is worth saying, to an audience of walls?
What is worth imparting, before the Reaper calls?
Can we be attentive or even truly free?
Dance, monkey, dance on the grave of my dream.
Fly, vivacious ape, fly in the face of me.
You are an apparition and never what you seem.

The din grows louder,
The clouds approach.
Raining on the subject
I once tried to broach with you.
On a rainy walk through the jungle,
On a night when my life turned sour,
Limping in the groping dark,
Like a worthless, wilted flower.

You will bend my ear with whispers,
I will keep my own company.
What is worth saying?
What is worth perpetuating
To a deaf companion on a windless journey?

What is worth saying to a tedious crowd?
What is worth saying, thunderous and loud?
Like a wise old owl, perched atop the courtyard tree,
Hooting through the moonlight,
The words of love you sang to me.

All the years I feigned to live,
All the gifts I failed to give,
Echo sad and endlessly.
Raven in a summer storm,
Croaking at me ponderously.

To an audience of one, alas, I am playing.
Haplessly down on my knees I am praying,
For one last holy sacrament of bread and of wine,
For my words not to wither like pearls before swine.
To the abyss I fall remiss, out of luck and out of time.

What is worth saying, as the rain it heaves and pours?
As the seas rush oh so violently, crashing on the shores?
What is worth saying or should I save my precious breath,
The last days they are coming, I am focused in on death.
Can we be appreciative,
Can we love philosophy?
Swing, my little lovelorn monkey,
Cleave with your might to your primitive tree.

-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2015
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED