[Poem][Show Them]

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Sit up straight,

or stand with perfect posture.

Never slouch,

and let anyone else see.

Keep your composure,

no matter what you are told.

Hold your tongue,

Regardless of what they do to you.

You are so much stronger,

Than what they think you to be.

Stand against the crowd,

And become more than what they expect.

Show them wrong,

And have them bite their own tongues.

Show them the truth,

That no matter what they think of to do,

You will outlast them.

Show them your posture.

Show them your composure.

Show them your strength.

[Page Updates and Future Posts]

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Sitting here at my mum’s apartment in Guelph, I have finally updated the Pages of my blog.

From the many blogs I follow, mine is small in comparison, but I did not realize how many posts I have actually made since the last time I updated the links to specific postings. I like being organized; I enjoy being organized. I discover relief and de-stress when I know I can look at a list of ‘To Dos’ and have the closure that I do have something to work towards when I feel lazy. As great a feeling as accomplishing such a simple tasks as updating the hyperlinks on my Pages, I also feel a small sense of disappointment in myself for waiting this long (months!) to accomplish it. There are always excuses to be made about why it wasn’t done earlier, but this isn’t high school or home and I’m not being held accountable for my lack of effort by anyone other than myself. That being said, I am publicly holding myself accountable now. Now you know I have been a little lazy with my blog. I feel better now. =)

So, what does the future hold considering much of my time is either spent on my retail job or writing and editing for my online writing program?

War of the Seasons will be updated… soon… ish… I do have the next installment written, it just needs a quick edit and to be typed up. I have many other poems and am continuously scribbling down more so there will always been something being posted here on The Uncanny Sublime. A goal I want to set for myself though, is to do more on the subject of tigers since they are such a large inspiration and love of mine. I’ll need to think of a way or two of accomplishing this. If you have any suggested, I’d love to hear them!

 

Thank you all who take time out of their day to read my blog and the many others who find at least a little fulfillment through writing and sharing it here on WordPress. I would love to hear more for you!

[An Odd Question]

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“Would you like to know how much longer you have?”
It was an odd question, at least to me it sounded odd. How could wanting to know how much longer you had to live be something you would like? As though knowing would be an enjoyable experience in some way or simply put the doctor’s mind at ease upon the reveal of such information. I could see someone being unprepared for the end wanting to know, they would need to know such a deadline to put all their affairs in order before passing.
I had my affairs in order. I’m no young man who has never contemplated death before. I am prepared. I don’t need to know my expiration date.
But that got me thinking though. My poor Bethany. Yes she would be taken care of by our children and live more than comfortably with the money I was leaving behind, along with a stash she did not even know about in case I departed before she did. But could my stubbornness at this appointment, with this one odd question, cause her more pain than knowing I am terminal? Would she wake up beside me, terrified she was waking up to my empty shell, morning after morning because she would not know when?
I could tell the doctor was sitting awkwardly waiting for my answer, probably confusing my silence for being dumbfounded at my diagnosis and not the dilemma of my dear wife. Perhaps I should respond to his odd question with my own, “should I find out, only for the safe of my wife?”
~
It was an odd question, at least to me.it sounded odd. As a practitioner for at least a decade, a patent had never asked me such a thing when informed they were dying. Not to imply that my other former patents that have passed on since were selfish in only thinking about their own needs, but never once was one bold enough to voice concern about their spouse.
It was touching and even in my experience, whether in my practice or my studies, had I never come across such a question. The common response was, usually after much inner turmoil towards realizing that they were in fact dying, was ‘yes, I need to know. I need to get my affairs in order.’ Their next question being an obvious one, and normally one they would tell their loved ones, ‘will I be in much pain? How long will I be in pain for.’
What struck me most though with this patent, was his concern for his wife and her management of his pain and passing. Could it be that this gentleman had already accepted a terminal diagnosis long before actually receiving one? He would be a rare case indeed considering most of the patents prepared for death were melodramatic teenage angst-ridden teens who were, hopefully, just going through a phase.
This patent, this man, was in his last phase. “Honestly… ”

Silence owned the room.

[Poem][Filled With Answers]

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Filled With Answers

Gently seek the raving mad man,
Who knows all the answers,
But knows no questions.

Find truth in the lies of sleeping trees,
That creak loudly in the silence,
Among rushing flowers.

Ask what no one else will to those we all know,
To set the answers free from the shackles,
To set yourself free in your own mind and soul.

Let the two meet somewhere in your body,
Despite the heartache found among the two,
Let them see each other for what they truly are.

Not all the mad man says is honest,
But think why is he made so in the first place,
When he knows all the answers you seek?

Perhaps he tried too hard to keep them apart,
And it burned all the happiness out of his life,
And the gap filled with answers of knowledge.

Let your heart lead you head sometimes,
Your will will lead your mind,
Your patience will command your body to be still.

Find the truth in the lies,
The sugar in the salt,
The beach under the water,
Yourself in yourself.

[“I wish I could write like you.”]

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It’s a funny experience being told I have a special skill when it comes to writing. The funny part being that they are not referencing my actual work as a writer but at the discipline they believe comes with being a writer. “I wish I could write, but I don’t have the patience to sit for hours and just pull things from my head.” Well honestly, neither do I and I’m sure most writers would say the exact same thing. To be a writer all you need to do is put pen to paper or fingers to keys and explore anything you can think of. But to be an author is to discern and delve in to an idea that you can’t get out of your head until you commit it to paper in its entirety.
Writing is just like any skill, whether it be sports, tricks, cooking, anything you can be or become good at: you need to practice until your mind and body are exhausted. You know how you come across those people who just seem to find doing something difficult so easily? Trust me when I say those people are few and far between, but should be congratulated and pitied at the same time. If you are already so near perfect at something, where is the thrill and excitement of overcoming the odds and accomplishing something you’ve worked so hard for? If it is so easy to begin with, wouldn’t it lose your interest, causing you to move on to something that is a challenge?
If writing were so simple, if it came to me like a flowing river instead of a flash of lightning, I wouldn’t still be trying to find something special with a pen and paper. For those who wish to write, write about anything you want, everything you want. Publish online, in magazines, in newspapers, and ask the world to comment until you’re ready to write art.
Be flattered when someone says they wish they could be a writer like you, but do not, under any circumstances, let that make you think you are truly prepared to be an author.