The fault in our stars

“…but it is the nature of stars to cross,and never was shakespeare more wrong than when he had Cassius note,”The fault ,dear Brutus is not in our stars
but in ourselves.”
“Not marble,not the gilded monuments
Of princes,shall outlive this powerful rhyme
But you shall shine more bright in these contentd
Than unswept stone,besmear’d with sluttish time”

“Let us go then,you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky,
Like a patient etherized upon a table.
Let us go,
through certain half-deserted streets,
the muttering retreats
of restless nights in one-nighy cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insudious intent
To lead you to an overwhemong
Oh,do not ask,”what is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.”
“For who so firm that cannot be seduced?”
“So much depends
a red wheel

glazed with rain

beside the white
   -William Carlos Williams

“and I was beginning to suspect that even if death didn’t get in the way,the kind of love that Augustus and I share could never last.
“So dawn goes down to day,
Nothing gold can stay”
   –Robert Frost

Imagine a world where writers are not isolated figures sitting bent over pages in a solitary confinement,
Imagine a world where being a writer is a lot like being an actor,you get to thank a lot of people and also MEAN  it.
Imagine that being creative does not mean unfinished bitter business but that it can also mean a trustworthy family that is not disfunctional.
Imagine teenagers who have depth and maturity and compassion towards their parents,
Imagine teenagers showing the sort of maturity most adults lack..
A loving supporting family to help through even the toughest most tragic of fates-a child ill with a terminal disease.

A journalist once ,conducted a social  experiment ,presented herself as a tourist and was never as lucky in love ..

“Don’t you love her madly as she’s walking out the door”
Sang Jim Morrison who had died long before “his time”
And had he lived to a ripe old age would he ended up as one of the most popular graves in Paris?

How easy it is to love knowing it will not last.
Love,wrote a Romantic British poet,should last three days like butterflies.
The Brönte sisters lived a short intense life leaving behind  brilliant short writing  careers and much  masses attracting mystery.

Quite a few years ago a twenty year old soldier i had just met,had
died a terrible tragic accidental death by a grenade,i would never know what could or could not have occured,we were just planning a date,talking on the phone after having met but before we could have met and maybe disapointed eachother, tragedy occured and he was killed in a similar way as a  recently  young soldier,old enough to have been our son,had died leaving many mourning what could have been..

Death is romanticized  and no one can love death better than the Irish mourning Danny boy and all who died young before their time.

I joined the many readers and my cynical self disbelieved the way love was so easily expressed ,pronounced ,felt and was returned though the ill heros,the star crossed lovers,claim “it isn’t fair”,we all know what is truly not fair is how love mostly slips away unless terminated by a twist of fate or human error which can not handle too much wonderful .
I am not saying everlasting love is impossible just highly unlikely because human beings being human beings fear,suspicion  ,bad timing,or just lack of depth to recognize a deep diving star gazer proves oftentimes an impossible contradiction but that’s exactly where poetry comes in handy,almost always detached from a plot .

About seagullsea

a seagull flying over the great ocean of life observing.
This entry was posted in a letter to the stars, anti perfectionism, book report, relationship, survival, understanding ourselves, wishing. Bookmark the permalink.

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