Terza Rambler
Jan. 24th, 2010 12:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jaydeeLooking through old poems for something to put up last night made me think about what I was writing then. Which thoughts, I decided, might as well rhyme. This form seems quite suited to rambling on. To rambling on about rambling on, even.
Sometimes I marvel at the words once said
by me, or someone who I used to be.
"Man, what the hell?" I think, and shake my head.
Of course there are some parts I still agree
with, I would still put into verse today.
But it's the differences stand out to me.
That I was so naive causes dismay
and forces me to face the question, "How
was I so wrong, I could those thoughts display?"
What's worse, I know I'm not much better now.
Indeed, it's not just words from years gone by;
there are quite recent poems I disavow,
and with a question much the same: "Oh why
did I let thoughts like this pollute
my mind when they are something I deny?"
Perhaps it would be better I were mute
and not of these vicissitudes aware,
at least not going over each minute
word, line or phrase so that I can compare
what I thought then and I think now, or in
the future yet may think. A new despair
comes with the thought of that. I can't begin
to wonder how my writings now will seem
to me when I have changed again. Within
all of this cringing, can I find a theme?
Perhaps it is a blessing, not a curse
to know one's mind can change, that one extreme
is not all I will know. The more diverse
the better, that's how balance best is sought.
I'll celebrate the changes in my verse,
for life is change, or so I have been taught,
as is all else, so why not also thought.
Sometimes I marvel at the words once said
by me, or someone who I used to be.
"Man, what the hell?" I think, and shake my head.
Of course there are some parts I still agree
with, I would still put into verse today.
But it's the differences stand out to me.
That I was so naive causes dismay
and forces me to face the question, "How
was I so wrong, I could those thoughts display?"
What's worse, I know I'm not much better now.
Indeed, it's not just words from years gone by;
there are quite recent poems I disavow,
and with a question much the same: "Oh why
did I let thoughts like this pollute
my mind when they are something I deny?"
Perhaps it would be better I were mute
and not of these vicissitudes aware,
at least not going over each minute
word, line or phrase so that I can compare
what I thought then and I think now, or in
the future yet may think. A new despair
comes with the thought of that. I can't begin
to wonder how my writings now will seem
to me when I have changed again. Within
all of this cringing, can I find a theme?
Perhaps it is a blessing, not a curse
to know one's mind can change, that one extreme
is not all I will know. The more diverse
the better, that's how balance best is sought.
I'll celebrate the changes in my verse,
for life is change, or so I have been taught,
as is all else, so why not also thought.