Become (poem)
By Luke Labern
Don't doubt it for a second.
Specialise? No, because I'm special:
Sad enough that total faith in myself
Is a rarity to savour;
Tragic if I didn't turn inwards, always.
How could I ever trust those
Who tell me not to trust myself?
I love you who love yourself,
For you embrace absurdity and nothingness.
It doesn't matter that you won't last:
That only makes it sweeter.
Better, then, for the two of us to nod in public
And save intimacy for silent art.
I can hear you listening
I can hear you thinking
And if your thoughts had a face,
I would kiss them.
No skin could ever compare to this—
The translation of existence itself.
Dreams!—there is nothing greater,
If you think money's more important—
You might not ever get it
(The truth, currency or purpose).
Happiness is not a place: it's a state.
Rest up and think a while.
Sleep will nourish, even in its absence:
Total calm or newfound tension.
The money here, or gone:
It doesn't matter, does it?
The dream remains: no wallet can hold it.
Money, coins, rates—or
Freedom, power, wealth.
Both reside in the other, but
One without the other won't get you far.
The heavy pocket guarantees nothing—
The heavy mind till capable of soaring?
That's all you ever need.
A painful truth, I'm afraid:
Greatness may well be limited
By who you really are. But
What greatness lies within
Can always be extracted.
The ore of dreams—the only labour
Worth pursuing.
Doubt it?
I told you not to, only a lifetime ago—
But mistakes are made to be made.
Failure's nothing to be afraid of—
The only thing to avoid are second thoughts.
Does it really matter who you are?
No, because you can only be who you are:
Yes, because you are an individual and thus essential.
But heed this well, lest we pass without connecting:
The only metric worth watching is the self you're affecting.
And even if you and I never can be friends,
Listen to me now: the world needs you,
And you need yourself.
It doesn't matter what I think,
Because I will soon be dead, before the sun explodes.
What matters is that you become
You, before you're done.
Specialise? No, because I'm special:
Sad enough that total faith in myself
Is a rarity to savour;
Tragic if I didn't turn inwards, always.
How could I ever trust those
Who tell me not to trust myself?
I love you who love yourself,
For you embrace absurdity and nothingness.
It doesn't matter that you won't last:
That only makes it sweeter.
Better, then, for the two of us to nod in public
And save intimacy for silent art.
I can hear you listening
I can hear you thinking
And if your thoughts had a face,
I would kiss them.
No skin could ever compare to this—
The translation of existence itself.
Dreams!—there is nothing greater,
If you think money's more important—
You might not ever get it
(The truth, currency or purpose).
Happiness is not a place: it's a state.
Rest up and think a while.
Sleep will nourish, even in its absence:
Total calm or newfound tension.
The money here, or gone:
It doesn't matter, does it?
The dream remains: no wallet can hold it.
Money, coins, rates—or
Freedom, power, wealth.
Both reside in the other, but
One without the other won't get you far.
The heavy pocket guarantees nothing—
The heavy mind till capable of soaring?
That's all you ever need.
A painful truth, I'm afraid:
Greatness may well be limited
By who you really are. But
What greatness lies within
Can always be extracted.
The ore of dreams—the only labour
Worth pursuing.
Doubt it?
I told you not to, only a lifetime ago—
But mistakes are made to be made.
Failure's nothing to be afraid of—
The only thing to avoid are second thoughts.
Does it really matter who you are?
No, because you can only be who you are:
Yes, because you are an individual and thus essential.
But heed this well, lest we pass without connecting:
The only metric worth watching is the self you're affecting.
And even if you and I never can be friends,
Listen to me now: the world needs you,
And you need yourself.
It doesn't matter what I think,
Because I will soon be dead, before the sun explodes.
What matters is that you become
You, before you're done.
A Poem,
Published 13 October 2015
Published 13 October 2015