Poem of the Week

Tonight I can Write (Pablo Neruda 1904-1973, Translated)
First line: Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Why Poetry?

Why is it that
Sometimes I can write
Long lines of verse
While other times
No words come?

Why is it that
When I am sad
Sadness flows in words
While happiness
Languishes in feelings?

Why is it that
Poets talk of love
Of daffodils and lakes
But hardly ever
Touch on all the other things?

Why is it that
Some things can only be
Expressed in poetry
Woven line by line
Saved from memory?

Fides

My soul is clenched as I stand at you door,
My legs quake as though I stand in a dying tree,
A small boy with all my weight on one branch,
Waiting for the crack of your voice.

I ask you where I stand (though I think I know),
I can feel the branch bend beneath my feet,
Though my eyes are shut I hear the surging creak,
I hear the truth, and fall.

Though I can stand anywhere but by your side,
A whole world brimming with places and people,
They are not enough.
None are lit by the smile and sparkle of your eyes.

Every time my feet touch the ground, I will be shadowed by your belief,
A reminder of where I will never stand,
For I believe in you.

And that is not enough.