LOGIC
So much a realist have I become
That if you even breathe the word "idealism" to me
I'll unbelieving slam the door and leave,
To breathe night's air and walk under true stars.
Cherish the thing you are, but be secure
In knowing that it is a wisp of smoke,
Like atmosphere... or gossamer
Fainter than a dream.
Do not declare to me, "Oh, I am definitely this."
As if convinced that you're an imprint brief and clear
And finished, to the last degree.
Each one is what he is just for a breath,
The second one lies in repose
He blends and flows into another self,
Again without finality or hope of ever being done
With change or growth.
As each man meets another on the way
There are no certainties, each is in flux.
(Because of this, when questioned yesterday
If I loved you
I did not lie when I said yes.
Whereas today I'd answer 'no' and be
Less fickle to myself than you.
Who, though you swear undying love,
Sound hypocritical instead of true.)
Ina Kontvainyte-Thomas
somemore of those damn-prolific Lithuanians |
