As a man on his stool ponders and thinks, the heart within him cries, falls, and begins to sink.
Grabbing his face, he weeps and wails, whispering these words in weakened detail.
“I have lost all the will to fight because of the
experienced failures that have been bitter and slight.”
In the man’s mind are the words of the poet Whittier as he
reflects on what few memories he has of her.
“Of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these
‘it might’ve been’”.
Again the man speaks, or rather screams as he falls from his
stool and onto both knees.
“I never had a chance so why continue to try? She’ll forget who I am and in her memories
I’ll stay and die.”
“All I ever feel is abused and used,” but he ceases to scream, because that part he knows is not true.
“Release me from this agony and grief. I plead with thee to provide some freedom and
relief.”
The man has no more to say as he stays on his knees for the rest of the day.
When the night comes he hears a voice, one that offers him a
divine choice.
“You feel at times this concept of love is a silly and
stupid one, but believe me my son, your time will come.”
-Mikey D. B.
The curse of the forgotten
No curse is ever envied or considered divine, especially the one of being in the right place at the wrong time.
To have been left as nothing more than a remnant of a memory is what some fear they are destined to be.
They realize that no matter what they do or who they become,
nothing will hurt more of finding and then losing that perfect one.
The loss doesn’t come from a lack of love or a fear to try,
but rather, being in the right place at the wrong time.
The cursed think, “It is as natural to be with as it is to
see him or her” and they know that there are many of whom would agree and
concur.
However, it’s bitter to see that despite what they feel and
what they know, they are cursed that one day they will have to let it all go.
To say the words “I love you” and then to say “Goodbye” all
because they were in the right place at the wrong time.
The secret sacrifices the cursed make for those they love
will unfortunately remain unknown to all, except for Him above.
They often wonder if all this agony is worth it, or whether
or not they should give up and just quit.
But this hope always seems to come to mind, “One day it will end, being in the right place at the wrong time.”
-Mikey D. B.
Alexander Pope supported the idea that the different kinds
of literature out in the world have their proper place. Anyone that is familiar with him knows this
or is at least familiar with the idea (Norton Anthology English Literature Vol.
1 p.2493 8th edition). If you
happen to be someone who knows nothing about the man, Alexander Pope was not
only the first professional writer, but he was super short, he is featured in the
epic book/film The DaVinci Code, and
often wrote poetry. Poetry has been and still is considered a
form of literature. When I first
stumbled across this style, I felt that the only way a poem could be considered
poetry is if it was either a conglomeration of words written in a flowery and
lovey-dovey manner and presented to that one and only, or if the words were
filled with hate and malice to crucify that person who you thought was your one and only.
Can you really blame me though?
Ninety percent of the songs out in the world testify of this. From off the top of my head: Faithfully by Journey, Apologize by One Republic, Shot Through the Heart by Jon Bon Jovi,
and Don’t Want to Miss a Thing by
Aerosmith. Frick, every boy band ever
created had their careers built on top of this concept of love and hate songs,
and not to mention the bazillion reality shows like Beauty and the Geek or The
Bachelor.
With love flooding my mind and out
of my nose, I attempted to write my own poems and each time I did, I felt like
crap. I felt like crap because what I wrote
was in fact crap. My poetry was
awful. When I tried to rhyme, it just
added to the funeral that my words created and my ears hurt each time my poems
were uttered by me or someone else. So I
came to the decision to stop trying to write poetry. However, I did not stop writing. I had too much of a passion for words to
completely stop that, and as I continued to write I noticed that even though I
wasn’t rhyming or being poetic, my writing was still filled with lame attempts
to woo the opposite sex and I got fed up with it all. For the life of me I could not figure out why
love was on everyone’s mind and in everything we watched, read, and listened to.
As I started to fall in love myself,
I then in turn had my heart thrown from one garbage disposal to the next,
making me to realize the significance and power of love and heartbreak. Each time a love and/or hate song played on
my iPod I remember thinking “I know exactly how you feel!!” and at the same
time I felt stupid for being crushed by a crush. I felt embarrassed for being hurt by a girl. I felt pathetic because while I was here
pouting over the fact that a pretty girl made me cry, there were families being
ripped apart from vile individuals who starved and murdered those they cared
about. I felt that there had to be
something more out there than a simple boy and girl falling in love.
As this rollercoaster of
giddy-silliness continued to toy with my emotions, I talked with family and
friends about love and its influence and after each conversation, I came to
realize that maybe Bob Marley and the Hippies were onto something. After all, the great Anakin Skywalker went
from being a great Jedi Master to the infamous Lord Vader all because of his
beloved Padmé dying. Real wars have even been fought over a man’s
love for a woman. Love does not stop
there though. From hate crimes to domestic
abuse, people have been killed from a lack of love towards one another.
Let’s go back to Alexander Pope for a minute. He addressed that significance is relative and
depicts this idea in his poem Rape of the
Lock. This poem/story is a
“heroi-comical poem” that treats trivial material in an epic style (Norton
Anthology English Literature Vol. 1 p. 2496 8th edition). In the poem, Pope writes about rich people
cutting off each others hair to make them look ugly, and he writes it as if
these people are going to war with one another.
This may seem silly to have such a trivial matter be so significant to
these people, but is hair being cut off really that silly and
insignificant? If you take a toy from a
three year old what happens? In the
world of that child, you are not just taking a toy, but rather, you are the
Japanese bombing their Pearl Harbor . All
hell breaks loose because not only are you a mean grown-up, but you are also
the Southern States seceding from their
Union and that simply should not happen! Our passions are what drive us in life and in
his Essay on Man, Pope endorses that
the trivial passions are the elements of life (Norton Anthology English
Literature Vol. 1 p. 2545 8th edition). My simple crushes were significant and heart
felt to me because of the world I was encompassed in. While something may be trivial to one person,
it is a passion of another and in the words of Mike Shinoda: “One man’s trash
is the next man’s treasure. One man’s
pain is the next man’s pleasure. One say
infinity, the next say forever.” (Right Now by Fort Minor
As you can see, I did not completely stop writing poetry and of what I do
write, there is very little that I consider decent enough to share. Even though love seems to be a universal
theme, I still cannot write a love poem for the life of me and honestly, I’m
okay with that. I won’t lie, I still try
to from time to time, but the closest I have gotten to being romantic in poetry
is in the line “I love you not only cuz you’re fun and I must admit, I
sometimes check out your bum.” Until
that day when I can actually write romantically, I’ll just keep writing my own
werds in my own way.
Great blog, Mike. :)
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