06-11-2008, 09:37 PM
B"H
This will be my second-to-last post, a going away poem. I am very thankful to all of those who wanted me to stay, including very touching personal appeals from *BOTH* Lucie1 and Rossco! I did not expect that dual appeal, and it truly made my day worthwhile. I feel as though I can leave as a class act, less because of recent incidents and more because I really do need to get a move-on for the next phase of my life, one that does not involve spending so much time in a chat forum. I can leave without loose ends, wishing both Rossco and Lucie1 the best of luck in their lives.
I want to share a poem that I wrote in September of 2005, before I write my final piece for this forum. It was a time in my life in which I felt very boxed in. I did not know about "HFA" Autism during that time. Thus, the feelings that I expressed in the poem could only be expressed through poetry, and not through self-knowledge. It is about getting older. It is a sad poem, but a hopeful one. I share it with you out of a sense of hope, not despair:
"When I was a boy so full of the red
of sunrise peering through the branches,
the keyhole of youthful vigor, a breeze
carried me to the open road
so beloved of Whitman and every
boy who has not fenced himself in by
fear, boredom, comfort, love, hate, death or life,
the road that carries imagination faster
than the body, the body higher than the imagination,
the spirit like the wind that blows
through the keyhole of youth,
an open road that does not offend
as Whitman offended, but simply
beckons without commanding,
an unpaved road that itself travels
in the open;
it cannot stand still for anyone,
that is its genius, not for today, tomorrow, or yesterday.
And that is why I never
traveled it.
Nor can I find it now.
Only the keyhole of youth remains,
with the breeze going fainter,
the light growing dimmer.
Only the hope of the road returning
remains, the keyhole, the breeze of youth."
I wrote that poem years ago. I am happy to report that I can feel that road returning, in my heart at least.
All the best.
This will be my second-to-last post, a going away poem. I am very thankful to all of those who wanted me to stay, including very touching personal appeals from *BOTH* Lucie1 and Rossco! I did not expect that dual appeal, and it truly made my day worthwhile. I feel as though I can leave as a class act, less because of recent incidents and more because I really do need to get a move-on for the next phase of my life, one that does not involve spending so much time in a chat forum. I can leave without loose ends, wishing both Rossco and Lucie1 the best of luck in their lives.
I want to share a poem that I wrote in September of 2005, before I write my final piece for this forum. It was a time in my life in which I felt very boxed in. I did not know about "HFA" Autism during that time. Thus, the feelings that I expressed in the poem could only be expressed through poetry, and not through self-knowledge. It is about getting older. It is a sad poem, but a hopeful one. I share it with you out of a sense of hope, not despair:
"When I was a boy so full of the red
of sunrise peering through the branches,
the keyhole of youthful vigor, a breeze
carried me to the open road
so beloved of Whitman and every
boy who has not fenced himself in by
fear, boredom, comfort, love, hate, death or life,
the road that carries imagination faster
than the body, the body higher than the imagination,
the spirit like the wind that blows
through the keyhole of youth,
an open road that does not offend
as Whitman offended, but simply
beckons without commanding,
an unpaved road that itself travels
in the open;
it cannot stand still for anyone,
that is its genius, not for today, tomorrow, or yesterday.
And that is why I never
traveled it.
Nor can I find it now.
Only the keyhole of youth remains,
with the breeze going fainter,
the light growing dimmer.
Only the hope of the road returning
remains, the keyhole, the breeze of youth."
I wrote that poem years ago. I am happy to report that I can feel that road returning, in my heart at least.
All the best.