Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

How much can we bare to love
how much can we bare not to
somewhere between bearable
and unbearable, is the naked reality

we come into this world naked
this means our bodies are uncovered
with the latest fashionable ware
beware, we are not born in a suit of armor
or a tux, we are not born in a hair suite

naked, we are born, yet as soon as we pop out
we are clothed in previous shame by association
this is so by religious belief, as it is by race, family
social class, and just by the fact of being born

so more to the point, we are never really born
as that would imply that we are absolutely free
from taint, free from mark of Cain, free from karma
from previous scar, yet what is passed to us, through
our genes, our DNA, our evolution, our human too human
traits, the fates witnessed as we came out from bloody flood

torn, not exactly born, we are torn from our mother's womb
and right away they put a number on us, we are units of exchange
is it not strange, we feel strange because this is natural, normal
and in our perfect strangeness for a moment we feel released
and it is an exhilaration, a rush, a magnificent awakening

then the reality hits us in the face, as we burst out of the hole
the shame, the name, the game, the blame, we are made to be
tame, our wildness is corrected, we are branded with the sign
of our guilt, and we are told to live life to the hilt, even so
we are built up for the big let down, when we first come
into this world, from the first word, we are trained to fear
and everything we come to hold dear is held up for bargain
and placed in the marginalized factor we become, by default
everything that is other, we are compared to the one on high
and found wanting, we are tossed into the fray, and told to pray
until the day we die, as no matter how much we pray, we pay
and we still think we have our say, so we say it anyway, we play

one day we may fall in love, regardless of all the odds against it
and for a split second we feel truly naked again, with the love
that has come to us from the person that shares that exquisite feeling

Torn, not born ... Yes, it does seem like that. Born naked, and then once in the flesh, nakedness is a sin, cast out into the field of time. Similar to "Eden" metaphors, at least at first glance.

... free from mark of Cain, free from karma
from previous scar, yet what is passed to us, through
our genes, our DNA, our evolution, our human too human
traits, the fates witnessed as we came out from bloody flood

I like this, because it gets to the heart of where our (physically-evolved)
hearts might take us spiritually from here.

great response...I just write as it comes out, so it is really
about the poet or the poem being born, torn, worn, scorned,
forlorn, shorn, morn.

I like the way you caught that line there, mnaz, almost
like you were a midwife.

this reads so well aloud...has the pace and rhythms of a locomotive rumbling down the tracks...has muscle, determination, and message...really enjoyed this one

the soul we came with begins its indoctrination from the moment we are spanked....and we spend out lives trying to synchronize who we know we are with how we've been systematically shaped by everyone we've touched

next to last stanza a gem....