In Passing

by

Frank Valentyn

I discovered as they taught by rote, by force and invitation:
I had three hours only in that room, perhaps some seconds more
Friend and enemy I knew in fond tradition, new familiar faces
Three hours only, to live and love and poorly ration
all I knew and felt and learnt of life and self and other selves
in this, a room of fixed dimension, a room of wondrous life
There I lived and loved by seconds, hurried by imposed intent
Dimly seen two doors perhaps there beckoned, a third through which I'd come
The loudest were the ones in pointing, exchanging labels on the doors
Overwriting, shredding, folding, smashed other's labels on the floors
Two! One! Three! they shouted and killed another,
in divine defence and sanction, their knowledge certain, never doubting
Reams of staunch didactic writing displacing living space, in gore
Vaguely I saw them take their absence, joy and terror in abundance
some sublime
some confident
some discourteous in their parting
others clinging, hold together fast deteriorating tatters
Dreams and tasks and deeds undone, severely uncompleted,
one by one they cast their sentence, surprised at their new nudity
leave their worn old clothing scattered, sweep towards created portals
flickering in imagined haze
Spoke to one whose eyes were loneless, I asked diverse opinion,
asked: But surely this cannot be the only, only chance of seeing, being?
can we not apply our learning, avoid the same mistakes repeated,
work towards divine forgiving from the ones we learned to love,
wounded in self wounded wounding, can the healing not sustain,
surely we can come again? Surely we can try again?
But busy with a ritual and deeply frowned in joyous magic
intoning imprecations, intercessions, implications,
casting clear and conquering sky-given revelations
humbled in the prideful function, sole-appointed by some temptation,
speaking desire to unify, kind in learned differentiation
said: One pass only, my dearest friend, one dijudication,
listen to the wisest here, they know what they are thinking
there are but two, ah, it spurs me so, two doors alone in choosing
one marked Heaven , one marked Hell, now go and in your kindness tell,
all others of your choosing

NEXT?
Why don't you look at Important is The Bumble Bee
by: Joyce Hemsley
from: Sunderland, England, UK

To visit all of Frank Valentyn's poems, click HERE

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