On December 3, 2020, I wrote and posted the poem, Becoming, and then about a week ago I wrote another poem, yep, you guessed it, also called Becoming. I’m sure this has happened to you, and it has for me too; yet, this time, I wanted to post the second poem as it is, title and all.
In a way, I think it is perfectly appropriate for this past year. A time of struggle, death, and extreme hardship in so many different ways; and a time of hope, life, and extreme gratitude. I am holding these concepts with you, and the space inbetween, as I present this second poem on becoming.
As I sit and ponder, and also wonder,
and, yes, sometimes feel flustered with
the emotions coming, all the while I know
Something different each day, while sitting
in the midst of the presence of the thinking
and never ending feelings.
It’s hard as the tears come,
sometimes it’s a trickle and not a flood. While
at other times, the flood would feel like a respite,
with the tsunami of tears pouring forth.
Sometimes it’s a song, or a quick flash
of a not so distant past. It feels, moves, and
pushes the limits of the pain I think is possible
to bear, and then just when I think subside is in
stride, I break again.
Darkness envelops me, and I bend over
the pain pulling me towards the floor, where
at times I feel like I’ll learn more.
Just lay there and be, and let the emotions
wash over me. One wave and then the next,
they pass through, and time becomes something
And, yet, my dear, just like you, they stop coming,
all the while there’s still more incoming. I pick myself up,
wash my face, and look at the person staring back
through the picture of my mirrored life forthcoming.
He wears a smile with swollen eyes, face damp
with the salted tears of years of trying. Yet, deep down
he knows, while trying is a piece of the whole, it’s in
the doing where the scattered fragments
become one, as we march towards
our continual becoming.