courage
Courage is a miracle and a fancy dream.
I had it once, held in my hands,
and it was glowing black, like fire in the shadows.
The heat would dry your tears, gentle,
gentle like a whisper; the words are both strange
and in a stranger’s voice.
Some would not have bothered with me, surely,
or they set me down, me and my grasp of courage,
and the flutters of easy acceptance would
pass by like butterfly wings through the reflections of their eyes.
Birth and death, the loneliness in between,
such a topic that weighs like wet cement against this beautiful day;
I laughed loud, aimlessly lit a cigarette, waved the
smoke at clear, inky blue skies and rolled my shoulders back
to feel the warmth of movement
Surely it was a mistake, I concede,
that a repeating pattern of people, people that I know personally,
who i have touched; a mistake, they have made –
made, like they made a pencil sketch,
made, like they made a cup of coffee –
and I will pour a drink,
and I will drink what I have poured,
halfway,
and pass it to you.
I’m slow and steady at the pace of a paper tiger
with teeth sharp like shattered ceramic;
how many people would have imagined that
the ease through which I have flown among the clouds
that are scattered around the conscious part of my caged brain –
how many people would have imagined
the ease was not easy?
that behind the scenes I was doing my very best acting –
acting like I could breathe.
Courage will pull us through this knothole, though.
It will be a miracle.
It will be a miracle, because sadness will have lifted without you noticing,
such a subtle shift, day by day, word by word,
and I’m not afraid.
Miracles are made of the same stuff as curiosity;
I can rub my hands together and feel
the sparks.
Inspired by – 기형도, “오래된 서적” / Gi Hyeong-do, “Old Book”
