Abstract

Live as You Exist highlights the common struggle of chronic rumination and the cruelty that is its often-cyclical nature. The poem itself follows a sentient church’s inner monologue as it watches the neighbouring forest; haunted by fauna and floras ability to maintain beauty through brutality. Collectively these experiences create the forest and though parallels to the church’s self are drawn, it is ultimately unable to acknowledge its own place in the world.

Poem

There is a saying,
when witnessing beauty,
that someone is “moved”.

To me
that feels untrue.

The unmovable 
see the beautiful
everyday.

If a cliff
were to see a bird
it will have never heard of this saying
nor would it think to say it.

So,
it would stay in thought,
but still feel.

Which is what happened,
on this fateful day.
And the next.
Then the next. 
And so on.

When the church met forest
and they stirred,
awoken
but
unmoved.

A DAY

I-
don’t
stir
that
easy.

But then-
when, I
see you…
…jealousy.

I, the church.
-you, neighbour:
“the forest.”

Compare your hues,
to my trite pews-
set lines prepped in
confined worship.
Worse still, in vain I
contemplate purpose
Purpose; place, for I
hesitate to live…

…to live as you have been
as the breeze, bare; carefree.
Free from the confines here,
here they insist, they preach.

And though you may weather storms,
whilst my four stone walls guard me-
in mass I pray the rain stays,
so its’ pour can embalm me.

I ponder the touch of your trees
the wilt of your leaves, whisked afloat
by a gust that never falters,
by a trust that never- falters.

I suppose I should admit something
I am made of you- soot, wood and rock
created by the pious to flock
and the trodden to emit their sins.

In my stained eyes they hung their martyr,
so forgive me, my view of you is false.
I overhear that you are wild and green
but I see sparkled hues and the divine!
“The forest” they say, “she’s danger after dark”
Yet in me I hear their prayer; that you provide.
“The forest” they say, “save us, fill our bellies”
yet they still fear what you will hand. Weightlessness.

A choice to risk all beyond these four walls
to wander instead of ponder, to live
to see, feel, all you have to offer, flora,
lilac perfumes, the soft lick of grass.
Your hues-false or not- are beautiful.

Animals, I have seen thrive and die
brutally, but with an honesty
that none could decry as false; fate!
We live, we die, but not alike 
as I erode, you grow and grow,
decay; a natural process
that feeds through rot, keeps you alive.

Again, flora feeds fauna
and vice versa, then again
until, until- it’s undone,
by frightened seeking shelter.

A cycle can be ceased 
when trees become lumber
and people build pillars
and rock walls between em.
I think you know the rest,
what it represents,
a cycle undone-
what happens instead
of death; afterlife
when born when dead
with few prayer
and pew not trees…

I am bored
and envy
your hues
a plenty
each new
leaf green,
fruit peach-
when ripe…
for
lest-
…for
rest…

Author Bio

Luc K.Y. grew up in the great divide of Queensland Australia with very little to do- but throw sticks and read stories. Now the up and coming poet aspires to give back to the literary world, their narrative poetry exploring the human condition through the fantastical.