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The water was so murkey
Where you slipped in
I could not tell
The point or the direction
From which you fell
But my spastic arms shot out
Straight out
Towards the general vincinity
Of the water

Far below
I thought I heard
Your laughter...

Tell me quickly
Were you happy there?
Or were you merely
Splitting your seams
Half sadly, half mocking
The world -- crazy as it is
That we live on

(oh, but my Rosetta stone
What a terrible shame...
You've gone away)

Then I tried to use
A divining rod
To fish you out
But those damn things
Are only good for water
Not for stones, which are like land
The dry land should already be here
And stones are always almost already
Near at hand...
How you should be the same
Like land, you should already be here
And you are like a stone but you are not
Almost always already near at hand

(Oh, but my Rosetta Stone
You've gone away...
You've gone away...)

Now what will I do
When I've forgotten how to say...
Because at last
You were not there to listen?

Then I cried four oceans of tears
To flush you out
Then I cried four oceans of tears
To flush you out
Calling Lazarus! Lazarus!
Throw off the grave and come out!
For the sun has brightend the sky
And now there is no doubt...
What we said once is true

I cannot make-do life without you.
Poet's Notation -- I originally wrote this poem during a time when I had lost contact with an incredibly dear friend of mine, due to a bout she was suffering with depression and some further complicating mental illness. I was very upset, and dashed off this work as an outlet to my grief. When I later read this poem aloud in a college poetry class, I received a lot of praise.
However, when I shared it, again, with a fellow poet, who read it silently to himself, I simply got the quizical eyebrow for my efforts and a terse comment that this wasn't my best work. I have often strongly felt that my voice is both an asset and a crutch... allowing me to add an additional element of warmth and immediacy to my work, where the lines I write, full of verbal puns and inverted cliches, might otherwise come across as flat, ascerbic and simply "yet more grist for the mill of malcontent". I'm not totally pleased with this work and do not consider it finished. I would appreciate commentary and suggestions... just, please keep in mind, that as it springs from a tender moment in my life, I can still be tender in regards to stinging criticism concerning it.

"All the darkness in the world
cannot put out the light
of one candle"

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The following comments are for "A Requiem for Rosetta Stones"
by hazelfaern

while a lot of people will not understand this piece I do. I write alot like this (a moment, a feeling, a part of your soul that comes out in ones own interpetation) I like this piece, and will read on if you think it not complete

( Posted by: f. j. dubs [Member] On: February 7, 2004 )

hazelfern, i think the best pieces are the ones that blaze with the light of your soul. This one is blinding, my friend. A true artist bleeds with words or some medium. Your pain is what makes this beautiful. Your use of repetition brings forth the urgency of this pain. I also wrote a blog wondering about the quizical look. I think now, that some of us can look below the surface while others will never be able to see past the packaging.

( Posted by: poesandpoetry [Member] On: February 7, 2004 )

one last thing
I forgot to mention that I especially found the "four oceans of tears" wonderfully effective. Well done.

( Posted by: poesandpoetry [Member] On: February 7, 2004 )

Four Oceans of Tears
Just a brief note on the "four oceans of tears", Poesandpoetry. Part of the inspiration for this line lies in a myth I read years ago about a woman who had the power to suck up the ocean into her mouth. One day she travelled to the beach with her son and, as was her wont, she drank up the ocean. Her son, delighted by the transformation, ran out onto the now dry ocean floor. He ran out too far and strayed too long, however, and the woman began to feel the strain of the ocean pressing against her closed lips. She waved her hands to grab his attention but he was too engrossed in the sight of a flopping eel. Finally, she could hold back the water no longer, and it came pouring out. Just before the tidal swell reached her child a single tear trickled down her cheek -- a tear tainted by the ocean she had been unable to contain. This, they say, is why all tears taste slightly of salt. It's certainly a bizarre story, but certain elements of it intrigue me, and I find myself thinking of it from time to time, especially when writing. The mythic element of being unable to hold back one's emotions fascinates me. Of course tears also serve the purpose of cleansing -- both foriegn elements from the eye, and difficult emotions from the conscious mind. So I suppose by "four oceans of tears to flush you out" I was using a mixed metaphor. Glad you liked the poem and thanks, as always, for the feedback :)

( Posted by: hazelfaern [Member] On: February 7, 2004 )

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