And the reunion was.. surprisingly boring. 
We've all changed a lot since we last saw each other. Last year's reunion was before any of us had gone off to college and changed too terribly much from when we were at Governor's School in the first place, summer 2003. But this year's alumni day was poorly populated by the 03'ers, densely packed by the 04 kids. 04 kids suck. GSE was supposed to be our place, our incendiary memories, our Eden forever lost to us. Not theirs. But we've forgotten it. Too many people that made the place what it was (Anne, the first love I mentioned in the last post, included) didn't show. It was mostly people from Carolina, whom I all love dearly, but it doesn't change the fact that I can see them whenever I wanted. It just wasn't the same. The magic has left us, found a new generation to possess. Now it's time to watch the Wonderful World of Disney (The Emperor's New Groove is on
) and think about something else. I know that I am loved and that I can still love, it's just hard dealing with the sources and recipients of that love shifting. I'll live.
Last year's reunion was a heartbreaker though. Here's the poem I wrote the night of. It's also the first sestina I ever penned:
***
On the Day of the One Year Governor's School East Reunion
by Me
Taylor cannot dream anymore
of stepping between the air and rain,
of tearing out another's soul and forcing it to feel the same,
of sprawling Stacia's spirit upon the wet ground,
fully, completely loved,
hearing a double heartbeat and no other sounds.
Poor Casey cannot delve into the ethics of the sounds
of four hundred voices that refuse to be alone anymore,
a single phalanx, guns to heads, demanding to be loved,
amplified into a unity, a solitary reign,
strong and stamping heels to ground,
consolidated, solitary, rare and the same.
Allison has never felt the same.
No one understands how crucial are the sounds
of a single perfect person speaking poetry from blankets on the ground.
These emotions have never existed before and they won't exist anymore,
swallowed by the porous earth, washed away by rain,
secrets, words, forever forgotten by the only two hearts they ever loved.
To allow myself to be selflessly loved
and to be reborn are one and the same,
to die by fire and rise up from the rain,
to see shadows for shadows, sounds for sounds,
to return to the cave I can barely conceive anymore,
to surrender the knowledge to the underground.
It is better to die fettered to the ground,
free from the restraints of being loved,
than to never see the secret angels Colby cannot try to explain anymore,
to be dragged down, back to the cave, feeling grubby fingers and knowing they are the same
shaded mirrors of a former self, uttering unintelligible grunting sounds,
killing the messenger, drowning him slowly, making him forget the meaning of rain.
One year later, for the first time since, it begins to rain.
Water seeps down into the cave through pores in the ground
into the collapsed cavern, suffocated by lack of meaningful sounds.
Anne's eyes open, fingers claw at dirt, frantic to recall the sense of touch, the caress of being loved,
frantic to return, knowing her counterpart feels the same,
rising from the mud, weathering the blessed storm, praying to never see the dry dust anymore.
Any more than a day of rain
in context wouldn't have felt the same to those sitting silently now upon the ground,
to those once loved, still loved, seeking closure, finding only fury without sound.
***
PS - Patrick Warburton just announced that there is going to be a sequel to Emperor's New Groove. The world is new!
We've all changed a lot since we last saw each other. Last year's reunion was before any of us had gone off to college and changed too terribly much from when we were at Governor's School in the first place, summer 2003. But this year's alumni day was poorly populated by the 03'ers, densely packed by the 04 kids. 04 kids suck. GSE was supposed to be our place, our incendiary memories, our Eden forever lost to us. Not theirs. But we've forgotten it. Too many people that made the place what it was (Anne, the first love I mentioned in the last post, included) didn't show. It was mostly people from Carolina, whom I all love dearly, but it doesn't change the fact that I can see them whenever I wanted. It just wasn't the same. The magic has left us, found a new generation to possess. Now it's time to watch the Wonderful World of Disney (The Emperor's New Groove is on
) and think about something else. I know that I am loved and that I can still love, it's just hard dealing with the sources and recipients of that love shifting. I'll live.
Last year's reunion was a heartbreaker though. Here's the poem I wrote the night of. It's also the first sestina I ever penned:
***
On the Day of the One Year Governor's School East Reunion
by Me
Taylor cannot dream anymore
of stepping between the air and rain,
of tearing out another's soul and forcing it to feel the same,
of sprawling Stacia's spirit upon the wet ground,
fully, completely loved,
hearing a double heartbeat and no other sounds.
Poor Casey cannot delve into the ethics of the sounds
of four hundred voices that refuse to be alone anymore,
a single phalanx, guns to heads, demanding to be loved,
amplified into a unity, a solitary reign,
strong and stamping heels to ground,
consolidated, solitary, rare and the same.
Allison has never felt the same.
No one understands how crucial are the sounds
of a single perfect person speaking poetry from blankets on the ground.
These emotions have never existed before and they won't exist anymore,
swallowed by the porous earth, washed away by rain,
secrets, words, forever forgotten by the only two hearts they ever loved.
To allow myself to be selflessly loved
and to be reborn are one and the same,
to die by fire and rise up from the rain,
to see shadows for shadows, sounds for sounds,
to return to the cave I can barely conceive anymore,
to surrender the knowledge to the underground.
It is better to die fettered to the ground,
free from the restraints of being loved,
than to never see the secret angels Colby cannot try to explain anymore,
to be dragged down, back to the cave, feeling grubby fingers and knowing they are the same
shaded mirrors of a former self, uttering unintelligible grunting sounds,
killing the messenger, drowning him slowly, making him forget the meaning of rain.
One year later, for the first time since, it begins to rain.
Water seeps down into the cave through pores in the ground
into the collapsed cavern, suffocated by lack of meaningful sounds.
Anne's eyes open, fingers claw at dirt, frantic to recall the sense of touch, the caress of being loved,
frantic to return, knowing her counterpart feels the same,
rising from the mud, weathering the blessed storm, praying to never see the dry dust anymore.
Any more than a day of rain
in context wouldn't have felt the same to those sitting silently now upon the ground,
to those once loved, still loved, seeking closure, finding only fury without sound.
***
PS - Patrick Warburton just announced that there is going to be a sequel to Emperor's New Groove. The world is new!
VIEW 7 of 7 COMMENTS
Riiiight....
Such a beautiful poem.