I received an email last evening from a friend I’ve recently made acquaintance. In her polite and emotional manner, albeit reproach of me for “…throwing in the hat and giving up on writing poetry … This is the time to defend the defenseless–no matter the cost or weariness,” she said. Her name I withhold pending her approval.
I’ve always held quitters in contempt, and yet I may be guilty of the very same. Likewise, I’ve always held to the proposition that one must know their limits. Then what? Have I reached my limit, or have I thrown in the hat? It may be I’m using the former as an excuse. And even though my emotional limits are at times tested, should I not endure? For how not does my inner torment pale in comparison to the suffering of billions of animals and millions of people?
There is no comparison to be made.
In that light, I feel so petty, superficial, and childish.
Have I turned my back on the innocent for the luxury of relieving my own inner torment? A torment that would not exist if not for the suffering of the innocent. The mere suggestion of it would indicate so. And an honest self-reflection must confirm the matter.
I am sorry.
I’m sorry to the innocent suffering and I’m sorry to you, my fellow blogging friends for the selfish nonsense I’ve exhibited. I’ve been a slithering coward; and more so that I disabled comments to my previous post. I ask that you accept my apologies.
I shall not stop writing and posting poetry for those who have no voice, nor shall this be the end of Crows Head Soup.
In all of my life’s paths, confluences, and confusions, seemingly dead ends with mountains to scale and barriers to breach, it has taken a woman—once again—to bolster and rouse me to my senses.
Women, I hold you as an exemplary example of bravery and sensibility in a world saturated with insanity, cowardliness, and cruelty. I know there are exceptions, but not amongst you here.