This poem is dedicated to and inspired from TS Eliot’s The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.
Do I dare blemish with steps
The blank sheet of first snow?
Pristine eternal of infinite possibility
Promised by blank slates
Reigning down, shrouding what was
In a seeming perpetuity of
Endless doors swinging open.
Do I dare disturb this?
Do I dare dip my toe into
The deceptively uneven river of life?
Creating currents where none be,
Violating the equanimities that embalms us.
To say, do, try that which feels stupid,
Unnerving, impossible, overwhelming
Is to feel the depths on your face,
Idiocy that risks drowning,
Yet some would say that is life.
Do I dare live life?
Camus’ question precipitates my heart,
But not as it did him.
Do I dare “put myself on the line”.
To hurt and hurt again?
But the romantic embraces the drama
For without pain you never find
The beauteous summit, the salvatory, salivatory moment.
Through the struggle there lies
A redemption worth finding.
When life like a sea or a snake restless
Rears its ugly head, thrashing plans to oblivion,
Hope eternal abounds in faces new and old
To return, conjoin and like muscle torn
After strain, give more strength
To go again, laugh, hurt, live, hurt
And love, hurt, all over.
For the bravery in the face of overwhelming,
Old and new, is always rewarded.