A Poet's Journal: October 17th, 2013

October 17th, 2013

There is something serene in long uninterrupted meditation, which in return, changes the world from harsh fact to silent poetry, and every piece of space where the eyes once fell in languor, now holds hope in anticipation of bringing forth words.  But just as the words we speak will be forgotten moments later, the shelter in to which we have placed all of our wisdom becomes the most difficult, and just as well the most revealing, part that lies beyond our reasonable comprehension.  Our journey to it is put off, our forces wane or lose motivation, and finally it is relegated to what is only immediately useful.  We find a semblance of simplicity behind the chimera of keeping ourselves occupied that it is soon only in running around that worth instills itself into what we have, and so the difficulty of poetry, which asks for nothing.  The one who finds again this haven is he who, in the gowns of disdain, will have suffered the insanity of his thoughts to come to light because it is only in bringing forth that anything becomes profound.

Douglas Thornton