The Only Thing in the World Worth Having

This is from V from Vendetta, and I think it is so beautiful.


Every inch of me shall perish. Every inch, but one. An inch. It is small and it is fragile and it is the only thing in the world worth having. We must never lose it or give it away. We must NEVER let them take it from us. I hope that whoever you are, you escape this place. I hope that the world turns, and that things get better. But what I hope most of all is that you understand what I mean when I tell you that, even though I do not know you, and even though I may never meet you, laugh with you, cry with you, or kiss you, I love you. With all my heart, I love you.

Hi.

Okay, so I'm going to copy Mr. D and start a blog, mostly about poetry. What I like about this is that not too many people, if anyone, will read it, so I can just go with it.

I guess I should start off with my favorite piece of poetry, by my favorite poet, E.E. Cummings.

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands

Everything about this poem appeals to me. It is beautiful. Perfect. Complete. It expresses everything, using such beautiful imagery. The fact that I can relate to it so well is another huge part of its appeal. But it is more than that. This poem is brilliant. Whole. The last four lines are written in ink on my wall.


A great guy, Steve, who I have known for five years, passed away on Sunday, April 20. He took his own life. I have ideas for a poem for him, but I hardly have any free time to develop it. I only know bits and pieces of it.

but it's only ashes--
the sweet-scented smoke
doesn't drift my way.

and you're not in that casket--
your spirit will soar
though your body decays.

I'm not sure if I like the rhyming, or if I don't want any rhyming in it. I know I want to compare the loss of Steve to a balloon breaking free and floating away into the sky... I find that to be a very emotional image. I seriously do cry if I see a balloon flying away.

Well, I'll be back when I have some time to make this into a poem, and not just an idea...