As I continue the journey into my archives, here’s a poem that I want to place into this story. It will be Part 29.1, though in it’s previous life it was titled ‘Imagine’. It is from March 2018, almost five years ago and it is interesting how some views just don’t change over time. Here’s the link to the original post.
Imagine
My unbelieving is a silent prayer to randomness, an incantation
with trembling hands. Imagine if this love was scripted, our passion
underlined in red on some yellowing scroll, this cold, that grows with
each step you take further away, measured out in karma, in faith,
in the dark algebra of emptiness. Chance can be the only currency
of this inanity. Imagine the hours we spent loving, the years we will
spend unloving, meaning something beyond arbitrary indulgences
that fill our time. Imagine if it was supposed to add up to something,
if this pain that burns rational thought was designed, if there is
someone to blame, if every movement of the heart is a carefully
choreographed dance. Imagine how we would survive that. Imagine
how we would unlive that. How we would hush the all-knowing wind.
A story in many unequal parts, some missing 
I was never a big fan of Lennon’s “Imagine” – just a young person’s B.S. This feels fully earned, and resonates with my own experience, too. Brava.
LikeLike
Thanks so much, Dave. (I don’t listen to a whole lot of western English music, so I never made that Lennon connection in my head when I wrote it… I’m going to go read the lyrics of the song now 🙂 )
LikeLike
There is a sweet naivete in Lennon’s Imagine. I agree with Dave that this piece feels much more wise, though there are certainly commonalities in themes.
LikeLike