Pondering Passage

the trouble with youth is that it is wasted on the young. forget the gun, the pen is more powerful

The last four stanzas of this poem are very powerful. This paragraph is background to my following comments. Contained in your poem is a description of something that is sometimes called survivors syndrome. Historically, during World War I, when men reached a breaking point they called it shell shock. Before this time, it was called something different; far too often, desertion. Soldiers unable to talk or walk or fight were typically shot or imprisoned for desertion. But by the Great War, the British hierarchy’s thinking was in transition. Firing squads were still busy but not as much as they might, since 24 psychiatric hospitals were established to treat, primarily, shell shock, and primarily though, what was then called, talk therapy. It was, for all practical purposes, the beginning of modern psychiatry. What is largely not understood by those who don't endure such violence, is that post traumatic stress disorder (today's nomenclature) - reliving awake and in dreams the fears and violence - every day occurrences triggering memories, paranoia and fear - repetitive feelings that somehow one did not deserve the arbitrariness of survival - these things may slacken but often continue in some form indefinitely. The questions of worth that we all struggle with in life can be more magnified for survivors of violence. Parents who suffer the loss of a child endure similar challenges and it is common for the parental relationship to sunder. Adoptees too, who are typically terrified of abandonment feelings, also respond with serious concerns about self-worth and endure suicidal ideation. I endured the same suicidal image at bedtime for some decades. Fortunately, it is a relatively rare occurrence now. This poem touches upon these taunt nerves. As such, it educates neighbours across the world. It is this touch which contains hope; this sharing which makes us feel part of something, perhaps something good. The voice so much empowers us to pursue and re-acquire our worth. For shame finds its power in silence. These last four stanzas are immensely powerful testings. They can carry so much metaphor of grief so as to silence listeners. And that is the measure of the protagonist's courage - to risk adverse confirmation of the inner shameful voice. You are taking new paths here at the cost of great trepidation, and not only for self. For every person who risks being heard, there are ten listeners who are awed witnesses, encouraged that such valour can be contemplated, that change is imaginable, that there is capacity for endurance and that the elements of worth can be reasserted via the task. I was forced by your last poem, by the shear magnitude of the blunt call for humanity, to answer. This time, I find the exploration, introspection, courage, curiosity, work ethic and narrative changes compels engagement and acknowledgement. I cannot express just how impressed I am. Five stars for letting the hand depart from touchstones of apparent safety in the name of art. Brian

how about "for springtime is yearning" more brittle and old ( shortens the mouth full of words) and still gets the point across thank you for the forewarning about this poem. How thankful I am you no longer mean it. Chrys

i agree that the lastt four stanzas are really powerful