Comforting Lies
Poem Exploring Memories Past
When did we decide to live? So long ago, so young indeed, did we live or do we die. I miss those days, the many comforting moments; too easily we forget pain, clinging to comforts. I miss those days but what excuses do I make. What happens when memories become more than they were, when they were seemingly put in in a comfy little drawer.
They become lies of a peculiar kind, comforting lies, those of the present to give sense to your eyes. Let yourself sense and sense carefully, for you may lie to yourself most incessantly.
When did we decide to live? Do you live or tread the ground, hoping to stay put, aloof and round. Not living, unfeeling, a harmless den of fowl, where is that monster, where is your growl? Give yourself comfort, give yourself pain, don’t hesitate for that monster within you, it grovels and drains.
Tame that beast, oh agent of toil, and become alive, growing of beautiful soil. Live every day, don’t slip away, those comforting lies will give you empty days.
Ilija Begic
