top of page
Writer's pictureJulius Crow

Alive Through the Ages






In the firelit caves around the world, our primal ancestors communicated with hieroglyphs. They drew the enactments of battle, told the stories of conquest and defeat. They learned the measurements of time, divided years into months and days; hours into minutes and seconds. They discovered the ancient secrets of the land, the water and the earth, and divined stories to prophecy the Higher Intention. They told the story of animal and evolution, invented the gods, transcribed the galactic message. They wrote about death and foretold the occurrences to one's soul in the afterlife.


Soon language recognized itself, and something peculiar happened. Words began to wear clothes. They began to express themselves in subtle and unique ways. Certain words dressed similarly, while other words were cut from separate fabric altogether. Writing soon became a measure of wardrobe in which the writer selected to express his sentiment. And a very fine wardrobe—a uniform, perhaps—would be considered a poem. Thus dawned the birth of poetry, when our tongues move with fashion.


Poetry, as water flows into water, encapsulates the invisible motions of life. The sporadic profusions of a violent flame; the enveloping tides of a stormy sea; the speeding current of an arctic mistral; the slower-than-time blooming of a flower. The art captures the heart's dance as it falls in love; illuminates the sunrise a baby sees in their mother's smile. As does the perfect concave lens, poetry allows us to see the shape and texture of life. Poetry elucidates our vision, so we may live beyond the opaque and blurry realm. That which we otherwise would not see is slowed down and halted by the effect of a poem.


Since the dawn of society, as man and language experienced a rapid, intertwined evolution, we have written codes for living, otherwise known as laws. Laws, yes, that protect its abiding citizens, but more laws that seek to banish the criminal and uncouth. Laws to which if we clung would escort us safely into our futures. For if we read the laws, the inner connections and gears of the Great Invisible Machine (society) would reveal themselves. These laws which shape and form our daily lives are not optional, nor friendly; and they seem to lurk around your window, hoping to catch you by surprise, and weigh punishment upon your head.


Yet, we pretend as though reading is optional . . . something reserved for the smart, an entertainment strictly for the bookish . . . “Nothing interests me. I don’t like to read,” goes the whimpering spell of the derpy.


There was a moment, if we go back to our early years of school, that filled most of us with unmatched felicity. Receiving a note in class from the boy or girl you had a crush on. I like you. Do you like me? Yes or No. Remember the feeling you had when you received a note from someone you liked? the warm, brightening sensation in your gut, the rush you felt in your chest? Remember unraveling it private, holding it secretly and strictly for your eyes? Reading. Colorless words may create the most beautiful image, silent speech may fill the heart, inspire the mind.


27 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

Lines of Fury

A running metaphor on the mirror of war and poetry.

Ripe for Defeat

We fight all night. You take my thrust and feel it back with your force. The moon watches us fiercely as you scream and kick and clench...

Mad World

コメント


Post: Blog2 Post
bottom of page