adventures in dysthymia

Tuesday, January 04, 2011

Act

Life's the tale we tell ourselves,
a song we force to rhyme --
jumbled, empty metaphors,
lines in ragged time.

The truth we shape to our own needs
is no more, no less, real
than any other lie believed,
tenet we might steal.

Act upon your faith or simply
act, it's much the same:
what matter if the rose is known
by another name?

Stephen Brooke ©2011

More along the line of three connected thoughts than one continuous idea. And, as such, there could always be more added someday. Anyway, each of these stanzas more or less could stand on its own as a little poem, Rubaiyat-style.

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