Ceasing to Be

Do not ask me
what it means.

Ask yourself
what do I feel?

Anger? Joy?
Do the colors make you sing
or crawl into yourself?
Do you see your past?
Your future? Hopes?

Is there energy there?
or does it stare back at you,
a void?

Do you see a story?
If so, it is yours.
No matter the medium,
words or paint or song,
the meaning ceases to be
the moment it touches you,

your memory, your mind,
the transforming agent,
the gateway to your heart.
My job is simply to penetrate that heart
and leave it open
to feel.

About this poem.

I long ago learned that everything I write ceases to be what I think it is about the moment a reader or view sees it. That is the way communication works. We say one thing. People hear or see something else. It has little to do with me. If I can pry open the ability to feel, then I have succeeded.

The image is detail of a recent painting: Memory.

Tom