Concerning the look of things

"You don't have to stay forever, but at least stay until you see it through."
              --Jim Rohn

Some things are better left alone or forgotten, some things deserve to be kept and remembered. But whether we like it or not, things travel in a journey of change and yet, surprisingly, the more that they advanced themselves further away and metamorphosed, the more they're the same things and closer.

It's like the four seasons of the year: winter, spring, summer, and fall. Each season brings out a change every year, yet it's the same season we always come to know about. And, each time, it offers us new eyes to see the same things differently.

Sometimes we tried hard to look deeper and to gauge what there is in things worthy of our scrutiny. We make, by some occasions, attachments to these possibilities became meaningful only after our having encountered with and upon. We do our best to keep as close as we can possibly get with and as committed as we can be, providing but a trap, to make things stay.

Some things are better left alone or forgotten, some things deserve to be kept and remembered. In the end, it's all about the way we look at things and not how they are in themselves. Things travel in a journey of change, yet remain as fresh as with our first encounter with them.

The following is a poem I wrote about the way we look at things and how, in our own ways, we can manage to capture such every little aspect of what it is we would like to freeze over. It is to dwell in that state of clinging until one sees through and to glide away. I have tilted it "Ephemeral":

If I'm sure you know
what I'm going to say

I'll speak with you
this morning

knowing it would be that way
over again.

Thanks for planting that worry
in my head

someone's licking a finger
to turn a page.

Well, thank you.
But what is it?

I know you'll think of something
you're going to put it in the book

looking pointedly in
another direction.

I'm sorry but you won't have
to make a speech

I mean I'm not getting any younger
it never crossed my mind

what it is I'm going to know.
Yet I had nothing to say to that,

not even as if to spear a glance
of what is not there

disappearing into
the deepening twilight.


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