——— Done/Undone ———
When I saw the cynics weeping
(then) I knew we were undone,
I was shuffling from my computer into the kitchen a few minutes ago when those lines popped uninvited into my head. (In truth, I was on my way to pour meself another rum&cola, and I was already a bit snookered. Yes, I’m a bit more snookered now.) I had not been thinking of cynics or cynicism or weeping prior. I had never considered that the meaning of “undone” and “done” could, in a certain context, mean exactly the same.
“Write what you know.” has been the ball chained to my fingers for too long. No! Write what you believe to be true, especially if you know it isn’t. I just coined that, and maybe it will set me free. Writing is not about knowledge; it is about belief, about faith. (They’re two different things, but that’s another blog.) And it’s about truth (inner, not outer). And truth may lie wrapped and coiled and woven in the lies we tell ourselves to get through each day. That helps me, too. But I digress.
while life’s predestined reaping
churns all my dreams to ruin.
These second two lines didn’t pop into my head. They were painfully extracted in a tumble of even more words that I had to discard like precious afterbirth. If I am an empty vessel, am I meant to be filled, or am I meant to be floated? And is it too far a stretch to rhyme “done” with “ruin”?
I’ve more to add, but I think I’ll float this out to you now.