Poetry: Selections from James Bergman



Change

Change is a flowing river,
To be accepted and respected;
If we join in with the dance,
That is of change,
We can bear its current,
For it is an exchange,
An exchange of nature,
Being and Her.
 
Change is a candle fluttering,
In the cold winter air,
Like our condition then,
Its flame becomes extinguished,
Its heat, its energy,
It remains for a while,
It existed, it happened,
It exists less, it stops happening,
It was there, and that is the truth,
For it may be gone,
Even forgotten,
It was there.
 
Change is our shadow at dusk that we can’t escape,
It moves, it weaves, but it nonetheless remains,
To be integrated, mirrored, fixed to our Being.
 
The shadow remains until it doesn’t;
It can’t lie like us, it can’t hate nor love,
But it can be true, and only true,
True to its Being and ours; She doesn’t lie,
No, not like us, She’s honest,
Everybody lies, She can’t, She won’t,
It is of her inescapable nature,
She is truth.



Hourglass
 
Fresh is the moment,
Alas,
Stale in an instant.
 
No recollection
Is preserved.
 
But it occurred,
Even once,
That is perhaps enough.
 
Experience is organic,
Easy to miss,
Hard to seize,
Impossible to discern.
 
See now
The drained hourglass.
 
May we retreat now,
To the origin of all.



Retrospection

Death awaits disguised as a dream:
A downward slope,
A losing struggle.
 
Choice is at a loss
With sincere retrospection
Of what it is to have
Felt what it was to feel.
 
Death is a better destination
Unable in being realised -
Only imagined.
 
An atavism of Being
Unfolds in milliseconds
Yet carries with it
Inescapable terror
Of shame and loss.
 
How would you feel
If you could relive
The times
That you now
Claim to yearn for?
 
Would you turn your head in regret?
Would a smile force itself upon you?
Would your eyes gather moisture?
 
If life is genuinely lived
it offers all three.
 
Cruelty is the base
Of our disposition;
A twisted curse
Begged and pleaded
To be otherwise.



Write

We write because we must.
 
For our mind would
Otherwise implode.
Please, not another episode.
 
Like water channelling through a stream,
Like wind passing through the trees,
Writing should resemble this.
 
Be taken in by this catharsis.
 
Explosive thoughts without closure
Become lost in time, sucked in by infinity.
 
A crime, a betrayal of sorts,
For us to keep our thoughts
Locked away, never to be
Heard, seen, felt, understood.





James Bergman is a British Psychology student, Philosopher, and avid reader of Literature. He is also the founder of Ahead of the Curve, where he publishes thought-provoking discussions, and analytical book reviews. He is also co-host of the popular podcast: The Bastard Sons of Oedipus, which gazes into the abyss of humanity’s darkest questions and depraved false consolations regarding the theme park of unsolicited rides that we regretfully denounce as our reality.

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