New Order of Being

 

In the old days
we pretended less
‘we’ meaning us
as a general class
much less anonymous
not as individual.

In those old days
people knew more
about each other
we knew the score
and did not suffer
so much individuality.

And so in the old
days we could hold
onto the hallowed
sword and shield
of social role masking
each individual.

Now I am old enough
that those times eerily
are gone willfully
with identitites shuffling
like ghosts in alleys
not to be trusted.

Who is before me now
who a moment ago
stood behind a door
whispering so low
in a rainbow’s voice
neither his nor hers?

On one day out of these
new old days surrounded
by people liquid
enough to drown in
I found myself suddenly
face to face

staring at solidity
timelessly somebody
an unavoidable entity
a presence with the heat
of an unstaged elementary
person of personality.

Old times fading
new getting shorter
change less spectral
like light on a tree
statuesque but small
honest unconventionally.

Living in the old days
you would have done
what I could count on
and I’d respond with
some homespun
improvization.

How I should act
what faces what voices
would be appropriate
even advantageous
cannot be calculated
doesn’t work like that.

Instead I stand
careless to the breezes
parallel and part of
a new order of being
an old view above
protecting love below.

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About mrsorenson

NOT my president
This entry was posted in poem, poetry, song and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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