Nothing and No One Stays the Same
Don’t believe me? Have a look at…sigh…a certain Beloved (or not) Leader over the past 25 years:
Hmm…that latest version looks kind of shellshocked, huh? And that’s the retired me. The earlier three are all writin’ fools, oh yeah.
NOTE FROM LB
Speaking of Fathers Day, and fathers, this poem was written when my father was alive. My mother was upset because “you’ve written about other people’s fathers, why not your own?” I don’t think she or my father ever saw this. If one of them had, I would have heard about it. Wouldn’t ?
I don’t know my father, never did.
NOTE FROM LB
The past is always prolog. I believe that what I love most about existence is the wonderful inefficiency of the eternal recurrence so many of us do our best to ignore. What am I talking about? Well, the last time I wrote about it, I said this:
I have lived many lives.
NOTE FROM LB
No better demonstration of how history repeats itself than this poem, written at a turning point in my life long ago. The specifics are different, but at this turning point in world history, on this particular holiday, the need and the question remain the same.
NOTE FROM LB
The following poem, which I just reread for the first time in almost as many years as I’d lived when I wrote it, surprises me. I don’t want to do spoilers (God forbid!), but when these words first came poring out of me I read them as meaning something completely different from what they mean to me now. Wondering – Who was I then? Who am I now?
Having read Don Quixote, and the works of Nietzsche,