When people read poetry they interpret it in their own way. I know from comments made to me about my own poetry that if I write a poem about one thing, some people will read it as being about something else entirely. And that is fine. Like any art form, people view it through the lens of their own personal life experience and preferences; it means different things to each of us. That is one of the reasons that I often write a little intro to my poems on this blog – to explain a bit about what I was thinking or feeling when I wrote the poem. But sometimes I don’t want to share that much of myself, and sometimes I just want to throw a poem out there and see how it is interpreted without any hints from me. Today’s poem is not straight forward for me to explain so I’m just going to throw it out there. Comments are encouraged!
Weep with me for the forgotten boy who lies quiet at the end of the universe.
Exiled.
Expelled with such force that he can never find his way home.
And all for a misunderstanding that can never now be explained.
So instead he lies in quiet contemplation
of the injustice of existence.
Wishing he had at least done something worthy of eternal exclusion.
At the end of the universe all is clear.
He can look back at what could have been –
The sheer potential afforded to those who so oft neglect it
chasing after instancy instead.
Oh to be once again in the opportune abundance of those at the centre.
The tears deluged once, but that stream has now run dry
Futile waters washed away no part of his pain.
His resigned heart long torn in two.
Naive and trusting he yearned at the start for a vindication that never came
Reliant on the honesty of another with naught to gain from confession
and much to lose.
So alone he waits.
All angered out
self pity over
indulgent hope abandoned
Surrounded by stardust and cosmic redundancy
Weep with me for the forgotten boy who dies quiet at the end of the universe.
Life, as I understand it 