The Way it Is

Illustration from "The Princess and the Goblin" by George Macdonald, (still searching for name of the artist)

The Way It Is

There's a thread you follow. It goes among
things that change. But it doesn't change.
People wonder about what you are pursuing.
You have to explain about the thread.
But it is hard for others to see.
While you hold it you can't get lost.
Tragedies happen; people get hurt
or die; and you suffer and get old.
Nothing you do can stop time's unfolding.
You don't ever let go of the thread.

William Stafford

It's that simple. You know, it makes me laugh, some poems sweep you up in a grand theme, some have little pyrotechnic charges in each stanza, have musical lilts to them, or tell a story. But then there's this kind. A flat-out statement. No music. (You could almost miss that it's a poem - which made me think just now - what isn't a poem? Maybe poetry is a way of seeing, a way of thinking. Maybe everything is poetry - difficult, terrible, painful, beautiful poetry - when the veil is moved aside.) For me though, Stafford has merely spoken my state of being aloud. I hold to the thread. ("The Princess and the Goblin" by George MacDonald, which the image comes from, is a children's story about holding to the thread. Worth a read.)