Innocence, poetry, David Rumph

Innocence

After Carlos Drummond de Andrade

“How he wondered, can there be a being who so negates existence in the act of existing?”

Life as we know it is purely at the extent of the eye. A soul may be windowed, but it’s cold outside. Way too cold for open windows. we question the heat and the eternal embers. We question the clouds and those who live upon them. We question ourselves, though we’re the only book we will ever finish. We long for times that can never be like a person surviving a sword to the liver. We have no doubt about daffodils, we know their petals, their roots. We know they’re there for unlike God, and ourselves they’re in our touches. We do not know, what it means to exist. David Rumph