Contemporary Contemplation

I am taking a course titled “British Literature” this year. I have worked my way through the greats, from Beowulf, to Shakespeare, and finally to creating some of my own work.

One unit this semester titled, “Expressions” called me to visit poetry again, for the first time since junior high at Liberty Bell.

The outline for this assignment was vague. When I was younger that would intimidate me because I knew I needed structure. So, I learned to love the structure that I knew I needed. And over the course of time, I lost sight of the creativity that I used to be able to add in when the structure was so negligible. But now I have come full circle to a place where minimal structure is okay, I respect the bullet points that are required, and cherish the space for creative exploration.

With no further ado, my poem:

Contemporary Contemplation
By Eva Weymuller

It is not a rare occurrence for me to be worried.
I feel, my life is hurried.
Little time for presence, to simply sit,
This metaphorical pit
I live in is suffocatingly deserted.
The need is what I have, fulfilled.
Or so I thought.
That existential fulfillment evading my grasp, as if I had rot?
My mind, soured by invasive concepts disguised as incorrupt theory;
Of this, I am weary.
The light arid essence of my soul pinned down by its own weakness-
An unrelenting cage of gossamer solidity. My own inception.
Inaudible, I cry out.
The strength of this compound, determined by my own lack of reception.
Myself, I doubt.

The invitation to abandon this state is my own, fight.
The ease of positivity is a movement herculean to that of the darkness
Whose snores of fire dull my vigilance, fight.

The power of mind likens itself to water;
Its strength unmatched, a weapon for whoever commands it’s trajectory
My confession.
I have been weak, tired, self loathing, rotted till my intellect has decayed to its deserted state.
A fresh slate.
An opportunity to fill my plate
With the fruits of love, kindness, acceptance, compassion…
Allowing myself the gift, vulnerability.

Below is my spoken word recitation of this poem.

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