An attempt at poetry

No good story comes to an end. No good story ever fully finishes. There is always a lingering note that fades away. There is always some "ever after" Think of your best and favorite tales - they don't just end. The worlds and and the people in them live on, living lives deeper and fuller than any story could ever tell. You don't know their stories fully but you know that there are be more stories. And it's this knowing, this persistence in a good story which tempers the melancholy sadness created when an author parts from the tale - this will be all that I know, but there is more to be known. There is more story.

I think this is partly why death is hard. It's the end of a story. I have friends, friends I'll never see again - and they are alive - they have stories, their stories are not done. And so I do not morn stories which I have not heard but may hear, its the stories that can be no more which are hard. They are hard because you enjoy them and would go on enjoying them. You listen so as not to forget what you enjoyed in them only to find that you miss them all the more - and now you want to stop listening so that you will stop missing only to find that you don't want to start forgetting - and this is why you don't like it when stories end. Cause that is all that you are left with - stories.

And you can not tell the storyteller how much you've enjoyed their stories, they are gone, new storytellers come and go - stories are shared, and somehow - somehow - well I've not yet got the somehow figured out.

I want to hear all the stories. All the stories I have heard - I want to hear them again, play them over and over. Write new ones. Write them in laughter and tears, and smiles and aches.

I was once asked if offered the best pizza in the world would I eat it? I did not then - I do not know now. To eat the best pizza the world could ever offer would be wonderful - but then could i enjoy any other pizza? would all other pizza's turn to ashes in my mouth?

As I type this another questions forms in my mind - Would I sit and listen to the best story in the world? The best story that would ever be told. It's odd because I have no reservations, no doubts - YES. Tell me the story to end all story's. Tell me the tale that completes them all. Why is there a difference in my heart? Do I care more for pizza and less for story?

Or do I merely enjoy pizza - and love story? I think it is this - that pizza can only ever bring me enjoyment - momentary enjoyment. I have to eat it to enjoy it. I do not love pizza - there is not enough to it to love - it's memory does not sustain me in any way - it has no repeat value.

Where as life, people, love, family, friends - story's. These things do. And listening the best story would not rob all lesser stories of their merit - no in fact in the light of the best story all story's are improved and can be enjoyed to their full worth. The memory of things past, even if they are never to be again makes stories worth the pains present in their endings. I'd rather have all stories end, then to have never heard anything. I'll not count any as lost.


A few mornings ago I could be found upstairs laying on my floor writing. An open Hymnal beside to me - I spend a good portion of my days up before 5, since moving to Yakima, there are several birds nesting the grapevines which cling to side of my apartment and we often greet day together. In fact I'm usually up before they are as I have not slept thru the night since I moved here - but I get to bed early these days so I'm getting plenty sleep. It's funny - when I first started taking pictures I was so, so, so wary of posting them - I liked them but what if nobody else like them. Now I post the ones I like and don't worry so much what the world thinks. Well I feel the same way now with my little attempt at poetry - and I should not even really call it mine. I stole bits from the hymnal, I stole bits from Homer - I stole bits from Song of Songs, but I put them together so I guess I'm responsible for it - however it turns out.

"Standing in the glow of this rosy fingered dawn;
I hear all nature singing Your nobler, sweeter song.
Arise my soul arise, and greet the glories of this day;
It's joys are just beginning, the King is on His way.