Here is a little poem I constructed from bits and pieces of things read.
A Bundle of Things
We are aware of some things,
unaware of almost everything else.
Our thoughts are fleeting,
our feelings atmospheric.
We have the impression that we are a center
from which all things emanate.
When we consider ourselves
it is usually as an ‘I’: a person,
a persona, a personage, a character, a personality,
a voice, a witness.
Thinking about it,
we are really a bundle of things
located at a certain moment
in a certain place.
The hand that is always touching.
Extension is toward contact
in a stroking, groping way
to stir, move or touch
A momentary gesture
doing the little things.
Things outside the self.
Things seen become things felt.
A hand cupped
to take fragments,
kaleidoscopic fragments
broken into pieces
of flesh and bone, fiber and liquids
polished from the wind.
Listen to yourself
hearing voices arguing.
Listen with open ears
to speak the language
using the analogy of a dream,
as intoxicating as it is befuddling.
Everything which comes to the surface
surprises us by its clarity and brightness.
Oooh, I really like this poem a lot as it really made me not only think, but relate to its message as part of human nature. I like the voice used in it as well.....clear, not flowery (my exhusband's past poems were so pretentiously flowery when they didn't need to be and only obscured what he was trying to convey but I digress......), a voice not judging but merely showing us what is.