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Fragments from Floyd

Before it is Too Late

Imagined Landscape / ArtRage ~ click to enlarge

It is not a complaint, mind you that I confess I realized this morning it is probably too late. There simply is not time left. As if one could know how much time is left. What I know is I am reluctant to live without dalliance and daydreams, digressions of musings and wonderings that would be sacrificed for the magnum opus I have set myself to finish. Before it is too late, I must let go.

What is required just now is a funnel into which I pour all doubt and insight, imagination and injury, hope and hallelujahs, filter fine, boil for days, and hold to the light the essence of three chapters from said opus. Before it is too late, I could harvest the bits that can be digested, sustenance somewhere sausaged with discords and distractions and debates that are not this homeopathic soul of what I know, think and feel.

I could perhaps sketch the spare skeleton upon whose bones the true meat hangs, and let go any more attention to mere clothes.

While there is still time, maybe it is not too late for poetry.

3 thoughts on “Before it is Too Late”

  1. I love the image, and it is never too late for poetry. As for dalliances and daydreams, digressions of musings and wonderings, life without them does not bear thinking about.

  2. Fred, what a wonderful gift you have given yourself . . . dalliance and daydreams, musing and wonderings. It is never too late for poetry. Thanks, I needed this reminding also.


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