Too often had he procrastinated; too often had he shied away from facing the truth. It was about time he confessed what he had done and what he regretted and would regret his entire life.
He was a simple man condemned to be tormented by perpetual sorrow. It was not that he did not try to be happy. He tried in umpteen manners. He had chased away his unseen fears and locked up his reticent being, in an effort to kill the pain and to bring to him better hopes of the life ahead.
There was a time when the rejection to his plea for love brought him down to utter misery.
He felt humiliated every time he called and received no reply.
The cool wind blew across his room and mingled with the smoke he exhaled. The placid silence of the night soothed his loneliness.
Marianne Faithfull in her prime was singing in a sweet melodious voice a weeping song that bore the sound of days long gone; distant moments lost to time.
He had become vain and spiteful. He scribbled in an utterly illegible hand:
“Oh where can I hide the torment of the past?
The melancholy chimes that ring in my head.”
“Lost is the droplet in the sea of forbidden dreams.”
Did Walt Whitman see things just the way you do? funny eh?
ReplyDeleteO ME, man of slack faith so long!
Standing aloof--denying portions so long;
Only aware to-day of compact, all-diffused truth;
Discovering to-day there is no lie, or form of lie, and can be none,
but grows as inevitably upon itself as the truth does upon
itself,
Or as any law of the earth, or any natural production of the earth
does.
Where has fail'd a perfect return, indifferent of lies or the truth?
Is it upon the ground, or in water or fire? or in the spirit of man?
or in the meat and blood?
Meditating among liars, and retreating sternly into myself, I see
that there are really no liars or lies after all,
And that nothing fails its perfect return--And that what are called
lies are perfect returns,
And that each thing exactly represents itself, and what has preceded
it,
And that the truth includes all, and is compact, just as much as
space is compact,
And that there is no flaw or vacuum in the amount of the truth--but
that all is truth without exception;
And henceforth I will go celebrate anything I see or am,
And sing and laugh, and deny nothing.
well thought and expressed
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