Thursday, November 04, 2004

If I Should Fall from Grace with God and Lament for Robert Frost

November 5, 2004 (This song is for you and you know who you are-The Fairy Tale of New York by the Pogues) Lament Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both and be one traveler, Long I stood . . . (sorry to say the memory chip quits there) Two divergent wood paths- how neatly Mr. Frost has described our lives. At times I can see you on your path, every now and then clearly, mostly blurred a bit by the leaves that shield us from one another. I do not recognize your travel companions, they are not part of my world- nor are mine yours. Sometimes you seem to be smiling, sometimes I cannot watch. Perhaps you hail me with a wave as though your path were easy, your burden light. Perhaps I do the same to you. Is your path rough and unclear? Mine is. I find myself weary of the distance I must go- Promises to keep? Miles to go before I sleep? Damn it, I want to sleep now. Forever. But Mr. Frost was right, those promises and miles are mine to keep and to tread. And so I trudge on, occasionally light of step, oftener not. But this is not meant to be sad. Although there is an air of melancholy in most, if not all of Mr. Frost's poems, as I recall. Maybe the tristesse of reality resounded in his words. I wish you sure footing, clear purpose, and true companions on your way. If being alone grows you, then I wish you the loneliness that brings wisdom. 'It's okay to be lonely as long as you're free.' Notice the yellow wood. It truly is beautiful, and who knows what territory we shall be called to walk next? Is the valley of the shadow of death so colorful? I don't know. Nor do you, I'll wager. Yet. I know a part of you, as you do me. Maybe more than anyone else will ever know. I cannot say. What does it mean? It never truly goes away. It hasn't for me, at times I can see in your eyes it hasn't for you either. I heard a poem of the paths of love- Sometimes people walk them together, sometimes the paths diverge and the two must walk alone, But the crux, the hope is that the paths will cross again, connect, intertwine. Do you think of me on your path? With something besides regret? I guess it doesn't matter; I don't need to know because I know already. I think of you. And behind the curse (on your lips or mine) is what is true- I loved you once, I love you now, I'll love you to the end of the yellow wood and beyond- the valley of the shadow, to death itself, and to life evermore.


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