Infinitesimal, Dichotomous, Correlating Line
poem by:
Rhys Lee
Written
on Mar 18, 2020
Arising like storms in the desert—
generated by humidity or love, I know not—
but tangible to be almost grasped in my hands
like ropes that hold or strangle, but
confusion reigns regardless, and I am lost.
One is like a Greek goddess, beauty so perfect
no mere mortal could be so attractive, and
in her Hellenistic vanity, she wandered the earth
after the fall of Ancient Greece, moving from
country to country, empire to empire, culture
to culture, hoping to be admired for her beauty.
The other is the embodiment of Mother Nature,
grounded, like Te Fiti resting in the ocean,
mature like aged wine or liquor, immovable
when storms arise in the desert, able to withstand
lightning strikes with the heat of a billion suns,
a testament to the lasting power of the universe.
Both have their merits—their strengths—and
neither is necessarily better than the other,
but when faced with this choice, my mind
rots inward, corroding like eons-old batteries
until I have no choice to make because it’s
not mine to make—right?—like I’m predetermined
by some incorporeal fate regulating human life—
a tightrope juxtaposition in direct contradiction
to everything in which I believe—what is true?
I walk a thin line with mile-deep canyons on either
side, and one misstep on the precarious edges
will lead to a downfall—not as cataclysmic as
the betrayal I’ve suffered, but a downfall nonetheless—
that I myself have created, just like I create
meaning for myself—creatio ex nihilo—yet
I cannot discover the meaning of this separation—
this thesis and antithesis doesn’t seem to mix,
but can I discover the synthesis I crave?
I exist in confusion and thoughts ad infinitum,
a complex labyrinth I’m unable to navigate,
as I weather storms that rise out of the desert,
and battle lightning bolts and flood-level rains,
but all still with the hope that clarity can be found.
