(Foreword to the poem :) Very seldom to I give introductions to my poems, but somehow I feel I must for this one. Perhaps this poem is more philosophical than hard core miner juice; it was not really meant to infer miners in particular, but in a broader sense, people in general. So as I started to write the book "Poetry on Miners," I added a miner into this poem, which really wasn't part of the poem to start (in heart, it wasn't part of any book to be quite frank, it was just a poem that came to me one afternoon sitting in the sun, thinking, just thinking-but also I was working during this time on the miner's book), but thinking at the same time, miners are in a way like everyone else, as humans we all have certain traits, attitudes, thoughts, views and judgments, we can also add doubts and qualms about things, life in general, death in particular, living after death if indeed we can come to some peace of mind about this. Anyhow, many of us fall into this category-and so this is where and why the poem was created. Not to put the miner into a box, and say: here he is, or here they are. Rather to say, 'Here is a box, many of us have fallen into'; I have also found in much of today's writings, in particular, poetry, certain subjects are taboo, and thus find a lack of poetry or writings on old age, the aging. The very thing we start doing the first day of birth; having said that, I hope now you enjoy the poem more.
Part One
Inside our minds we've built a door (many of us);
around it, we made a special frame...; there,
we hid old age...(hoping it never surfaces again):
not even a ghost could have enter it (be found);
here, one only can hear old riddles and sounds-
while playing out (the end part) of life's game.
Every moment now, is reality... (now at) the
present end: yes, we've really entered old age;
thus, the old miner looks back and accepts it,
says: "I hoped for the best, yet somehow,
somehow, some dreams got scattered into the winds
(got away, along the way)."
And now old age-invades him, it reaches out to touch
his hands (he doesn't bend, but nonetheless, it touches
him): '...not much time left...' he mumbles, waiting.
It's all part of a show, you see, perhaps-
not a perfect one, for us (but the only one around)-;
and to it all, life has a theme, to teach: nothing lasts
forever, nothing at all, it all ends, so don't build the
frame too tight-around the door, lest you die
unrepentant, thinking you have a little more time
left; life my not be so kind. Learn "To let go...let go,
to simply let go, and be ready to move on! Make
peace with God!"
Part Two
Now the old Miner is exiled from earth-vanished
in the night! ((Just like that.)(Deceased.)) It happens
that way you know, sudden, without notice.
New voices are heard; the toys he once had on earth
are gone: thus, the exile has begun. We have removed
time from the equation...all is new-the past, we
so delicately cultivated has changed, death we now
have known, and it moves on, and we with it!
We are a billion miles away from what we grew to
know-; the old miner has learned quick: he must follow
the voices, there is a new agreement, for the sake of
harmony, in the universe, so he is told...; hence,
he now realizes, man was never
alone!...
No: 2095 (12-9-2007)
See Dennis' web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com
Source: www.articledashboard.com
