Someone described me as “happy by melancholy” the other day. The first thought that came to mind was “I’m that easy to read?”, but the next thought was “That’s an oxymoron.” That is to say that on a surface level, those two words should not be able to work together, being opposites. The phenomenon of oxymorons is that often they work quite well to capture the reality that neither word could, by itself, wholly express. And the reality captured by the oxymoron in question is particularly apropos.
You’ve seen quite a few of my poems in recent weeks, and I’ve made some effort to show you the ones that are easy to swallow. Maybe not happy, and some may not have been easy to read or understand, but they were easy to get through and accept. This next one may prove harder for you. The reason I see any value in sharing the following poem with you is the same reason I consider myself blessed for having experienced the hardships that inspired it; pain has the ability to strengthen, confusion can create new opportunities, and loss will always produce wisdom, if you let it.
Run Not From Me
The darkest human has his way
On earth with cash and hand
The sword doth the killer take,
But welcomes it the man
For in his dreams his victims sing
Run not from me, lost one, run not from me
A voice echoes in my mind
‘Tis madness, yearning for my soul
In desperate times it cries
Or whispers my name in soothing tones
Run not from me, fair one, run not from me
The darkest corners of my mind
The ghosts of mistakes past
The dark anger I cannot hide
It creeps into the light and laughs
Run not from me, weak one, run not from me
I know not how to feel
Am I honored, embarrassed, disturbed, confused
To all I say yes, but no
And all will reply, amused
Run not from me, young one, run not from me