Below is the poem entitled The Living which was written by poet
Beckett. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.
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In the wild woods of Louisiana
there's a loud silence.
I recognize it as an old friend,
only just now welcomed.
Just for a moment, I have the right questions...
the moment when I've let them go,
with a slow exhale to fly
like wind without destination.
It's a mournful song with a beautiful sound, bittersweet..
so bittersweet it hurts so good, living.
I know what it means to cry a good cry,
and feel relieved.
To break-down, shut-down,
scream until your voice is gone..
To let loose and let be.
What mattered yesterday is leaving.
A sudden unwinding of hard-held expectation,
when the shattered mess on the floor
for once, doesn't demand a fast and easy clean-up.
Like childhood. Or old age.
Most of what we learn in the middle is bullshit.
I think the crossing over,
that final epiphany that renders everything done
and useless, that binds the good with the bad
to silence them forever...
must be beautiful beyond words.
Then we finally FEEL that fear has all along
been our only enemy,
and everything else, our friend.
And out here in the Louisiana wind,
I'll gladly accept just a taste
in the quiet.