Noah Haidle 2016
Smokefall
Violet enters.
The sun will rise in seven hours.
She will take out the same dishes, silverware, the same glasses, and then wait for everyone who remains to wake up.
I imagine the universe as a household which is always beginning again.
A circle without a cause or an end, a circle that never gets tired, that has no apparent aim, unless the aim is to find bliss inside the circle.
To find joy, and hope, and meaning in the details and facts that hour by hour define our lives.
The names might be different but our fate is the same.
To give what we have.
The attempt is how we live.
Smokefall
Violet enters.
The sun will rise in seven hours.
She will take out the same dishes, silverware, the same glasses, and then wait for everyone who remains to wake up.
I imagine the universe as a household which is always beginning again.
A circle without a cause or an end, a circle that never gets tired, that has no apparent aim, unless the aim is to find bliss inside the circle.
To find joy, and hope, and meaning in the details and facts that hour by hour define our lives.
The names might be different but our fate is the same.
To give what we have.
The attempt is how we live.
The Foundling
He lived among us
He was Europe’s child
His ways were simple and his manner mild
We looked beyond him
And saw what we chose to see
And now the truth about him stays a mystery
One sad boy One lost soul
One more story left untold
One more name scratched on a stone
One more baby left alone
Elizabeth Swados 2009