Five Poems by Paul Millan

 

Hindsight: A Triolet

 

The tragedy of learning late

after committing the mistake.

It can make us sad or irate,

the tragedy of learning late,

as we lift on our backs the weight

of our mistakes. It’s such an ache,

the tragedy of learning late

after committing the mistake.

 

 

Joie De Vivre

 

How many springs on earth do I have left,

before I am buried below to rest?

I can’t recuperate time lost through theft—

a thought that can leave me downright depressed.

 

Yet, I must be content I stand upright;

I need to use available sunlight,

and cherish seconds that I still possess.

To our one life, we all have to say yes.

 

Playing the Fool

 

I’ve played the fool by breaking rules

          because the circus called,

and all I ever wanted was

          somewhere where I belonged.

 

          But to participate,

I had to paint my face each day;

          forget I did my skin,

because of my naïveté.

 

An Exploration

 

Intuit, be a conduit to another realm,

a captain sailing seas—control and steer the helm.

 

The destination: shores within your mind to find

imagination that requires it to be mined.

 

Extract and write, extract and write, extract and write—

fill pages day and night, until it’s found: insight.

 

Insight about our lives in this reality,

as each of us must grapple with mortality.

 

Such as duality within, a tug of war—

throughout your life, you either sink below or soar.

 

The inspiration lies between these poles apart,

it colors art, so chart a map toward your heart.

   

 

Impostor Syndrome

 

When I was young, I grew up watching stars; not the ones found glancing up in the sky, but the ones found on T.V. and film. I’d get lost in the different stories being portrayed by these chameleons. My freshman year, I signed up for theatre; I only did it for one semester. It wasn’t because I was lacking talent; I thought that I happened to be O.K.—not great—it was my first time doing it. But my mother considered acting to be a waste of time compared to other classes that I should be focusing on. Maybe she was correct in her judgement. The need for me to act didn’t go away. Today, I played the role of a writer.

 

                                         winter whispers—

                                         pencil and paper

                                         upon my desk 

Paul Millan is teaching himself how to write, one sentence at a time. He currently resides in Glendora, California, as he reinvents his life. His work has appeared on Lighten-Up Online, The Society of Classical Poets and Westward Quarterly. He is also a photographer.