A Wake
Lost at sea
Thirsty work drowning in a sea of information. Re-search. More words from the pros and the conmen sculpt my thoughts until I’m an imposter with a degree in philosophical smarts. My name, followed by acronyms, I was once a woman of many letters. Hush your heresy in these halls lined by men of stature, that you hope to become. But I cannot. No one walks in my place. No one seeks the traces of creation. Presence dissolves to absence. Silence, the last embers, burning away. I'm no longer the swimmer but the sea. So who still flails in my wake?
Beautifully introspective!
The final question is like an echo from what once was self.
Hush your heresy in these halls
lined by men of stature, that you hope to become.
Men I hoped to become, but now revealed, with clearer eye, of how small a stature they really are, deserving not a respectful hush, but a stony glare and a mute dismissal. Let a new conversation begin not from the podium to the audience, but within the audience, between a heart and a heart.