Sunday, October 31, 2010

after all

 
the dead don't always sleep.

no, sometimes we dance
     and sing
          and laugh
               and love.

yes, we love
     and we dream our dreams
          of tomorrows
               that never come.

but what does this mean
     or matter to you?

we are dead

after all.


9 comments:

manu said...

hi,l have one metter reason,Before all dead we're still live.

jonnia said...

Thanks for visiting, manu! I will find a translating program so I can read your blog. :) You are right, yes.

There is another meaning here also. There are those who are figuratively "dead" to us. We don't see them; we don't care about them the least bit - they may as well be dead in the literal sense. Poverty-stricken, homeless, those locked away for mental illness and handicap, etc. If we think of them at all, we consider them somehow less alive than we are.

Jennifer Jackson said...

Who knew you had a "darker edge" in there?

I like it, for either meaning you choose to see in this piece.

jonnia said...

Ah, Jennifer, I think we each have a bit of "darker edge" whether or not we acknowledge it. I hesitate to post too much darker work all at once, but it's there - part of the package of being human.

JCM said...

It is a darker side but there is always an echo to light... the depth of love is often paralleled by the depth of grief. One a measure of the other and both, as you have stated, part of being human. I think that is also one of the more remarkable aspects of writing prose. A poem is always incomplete until embraced by the reader. In that communion and conveyance the words are breathed to life, uniquely and individually experienced. I enjoyed the poem and the comments. Kudos :)

jonnia said...

"A poem is always incomplete until embraced by the reader. In that communion and conveyance the words are breathed to life, uniquely and individually experienced."

Exactly, Curt!!! Thank you so much!

GreenTea with BrownRice said...

I fear sometimes that i have died too much already... that the lost dreams and hopes are somehow like dirst over me... yet here there is some life... as if to say "we are going to be dead... lets live in spite of that". perhaps in the acceptance of this we die in a way we may truly live.

enjoyed

jonnia said...

Writing this, it was very much about myself - I was dead in too many ways. Yet, there was still that stubborn bit of me insisting on living still. ;o)

Mi7 said...

your poets + music + great song :)