Write And Burn

It is a common attitude to be shocked
at the public spectacle of books being burnt
because they are considered 'heretical',
or worse, by some authoritarian state,
of which there are many to choose from.

Though maybe citizens ought to be
more shocked at how much the bully state
normal bullying behaviour until it no longer
commented on in a bullying on-line media.

But to me it is more the private burning
of personal papers that quietly saddens
most with hindsight. I am one of thousands,
millions, of diary keepers over the centuries
who at some point have found some of their writings
were fit only for being ashamed of, whatever
validated us writing them at the time,

We burnt them, not knowing that decades on
we would know better than to feel shame
at our youthful indiscretions. Time would teach us
patience and forgiveness towards far worse
than we did when we were growing up
and we should have kept the diaries after all. 

Today, Tomorrow, And All Our Hereafters

When 'Why' does not explain why
it is not a matter of capitals and commas,
but the inadequacy of written language
to describe, or engage with, pain and loss.

And there is nothing wrong with that.
Inadequacy is common, if not integral,
to human life. It is what should happen
when, for instance, we become the apex
of the food chain and flood the oceans
with inedible and enduring plastics.

What is wrong is when our shame feeds into
our sense of inadequacy, and the two merge
to dis-empower us. When what we need instead
is to do less today but do something sufficient
to prepare for a more modest and active tomorrow.

Folly is bound to follow
when our shame becomes our pride,
and we cannot tell one from the other.