Light and Weight

What is memory to those who forget?

To those who’ve mistaken weightlessness

as a gift of forgetting.

Flying is a curse to those burned by the sun.

A punishment to those whose warmth

of land is fading.

It is a disgrace to dying, to fall

gently like ashes to the ground.

Instead, the way waves hit rocks and shore

throw yourself where you’ve once begun.

One remembers even in dying:

A gift of delusions and flashbacks

for having lived. 

Originally entitled Icarus' Curse, I realized that it's true - I suck with subtlety. I changed the title to Light and Weight, which is sort of a reference to Milan Kundera's Unbearable Lightness of Being. If you've read the book, then I'm sure you'll understand why.

One thing about my poems is that they're not too deep. Hah. So whatever you get from what you read, I guess that it's actually probably what I mean by it. No need to look deeper, or to read further. Life is simple, really. Life is weightless, which is a shame. So the hell with it, read it however you want to. The author is dead after all.