Poem 03: Sweet and Sour
i often wonder who will tell the history of my humanity.
will the pages of my past be deemed pretty enough to print?
will the dirt of my misdeeds draw disgusted expressions of disappointment?
through the hallowed halls
of History’s walls,
where will i hang?
i have found the folds of my fingers caught between
specific chapters of my story,
dog eared and creased-
ripe and ready to be read once more.
i pore over the print,
notated with an endless array of failures and triumphs.
i am regurgitating and reminiscing
what should be laid to rest
and i once again recall how a person can be both
Hero
and
Villain
within the same story.
but isn't that the bold,
rich flavor of the human experience?
to be both
still streams and raging rapids?
cloudless skies and torrential downpour?
a hand held high,
white flag of forgiveness waving in surrender
and
the clenched fist of stones,
waiting to wreck havoc,
red hot and vying for vengeance?
i am both the
Sweet
and
Sour
dwelling in the text of
temporary time on this world,
haunted by chapters already written
and holding on to the promise of
what can be remedied.
i wonder...
who will tell my History?
