In all, honesty-poetry of Frank Feldman, p. 1 of 2 pp. Frank Feldman 10 Burnham Place Fair Lawn, NJ 07410 201.796.


In all, honesty
My Mom and Dad were flawed and frail, And though they did the best they could, They were mortal and limped with feet of clay, And could only do me so much good. At the pool, I watched them climb the ladder, Well aware what they headed towardBut then they jumped, and it was me up there, In abject terror, on the diving board. There was a lifeguard at that pool, A blissfully brainless and brawny lad, Who had no idea what terror wasHe hadn’t lost his Mom or Dad. In the shade, there sat a grizzled gent, Who’d lingered long upon this earthOld men become philosophers Or stay the fools they were at birth. I asked him if he feared his death, If it was more than he could bearHe looked back at me vacantlyThe man he once was wasn’t there. I decided I would find a treatise To help me through my hours of needGreat minds had surely pondered deathPerhaps I simply had to read. So I sat down all fresh and eager, And immersed myself in EpictetusBut all his dreary stoicism Hardly tries to halfway meet us.

In all, honesty-poetry of Frank Feldman, p. 2 of 2 pp.

These imperturbable Greeks and RomansHow they preach and how they prattle! (Plus, I bet that pompous Emp’ror Marcus Crapped his fancy pants in battle.) Blasé, indiff’rent resignation Is not a goal to set your sights onThe only remedy for late night terrors Is to leave the radio and lights on. There was but one thing in my readings That stayed with me when I was done: “Don’t gaze too long upon your death, As you would not upon the sun.” I tried to see if God could help me Face down my mortalityI soon found out blind faith demands One disavow reality. Don’t waste your time on metaphysics, Or soon to be mythologiesAdmit that you are scared as shit, And offer no apologies. And when a fool assures you that They’re fine with death, or “above desire”, Resist your primal urge to blurt out, ‘LIAR, LIAR, PANTS ON FIRE!” Leave them to their bookish fancies, Leave them grov’ling on their kneesAnyone who clutches at lies like life rafts Will drown without their fantasies. And yes, there’s a terrible price to pay, For it’s like one has swallowed a red-hot knifeBut the dividend of living without illusions Is the dignity which accrues to an honest life.

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