Written on a drizzly afternoon, on the 2nd Feb – 12 days after my beloved Jennifer Olsen died from terminal liver disease, except I was yet top be told. It’s ironic considering I had no idea.
Poetry content is usually reserved for Premium Member’s. However this poem I have allowed to be publicly visible, so you know the calibre you’ll receive access to once you join as a premium member. You can also listen to my podcast episode, Jade Talks Poetry.
We spend our entire lives searching for that one thing we’re promised,
the one sensation that’s supposed to rule all.
What if everything is wrong. What if It doesn’t exist?
There is no purpose to any of this?
A rock, a leaf, a spec of sand.
There is more than love to each of these.
Does anyone else notice the multitude shades of green after the rain?
The deep rich burst of life, the soft method of it’s sultry persistence.
Branches dangling leaves like soft caresses in the night.
A tree does not think, feel love or drink alcohol.
Yet it is very much alive.
A solitary blade of grass does not tell jokes, eat Thai food, or smile.
Yet it too is very much alive.
A flower sprouting pink, and dripping scents of love does not write poetry, it has no need to,
yet it is very much alive.
What is life to a tree, grass and flowers without love, a smile or sweet delicate poetry?
It is still alive. It still exists. It still has purpose.
Perhaps this is why we surround ourselves with their essence and beauty.
We’re secretly jealous.
We long to be better, to be assured that it’s all for a reason.
We forget it doesn’t matter.
None of it.
Not that person walking over there or last nights leftovers.
Not a red shirt, instead of a blue one.
Not a castle overlooking a townhouse.
Nothing matters.
Nothing matters at all.
A star, a cloud, a whales puft of steam as it squeaks and squawks through green seas, none of this matters if it were to disappear. Just like you and me and every green tree.
None of it matters.
Nothing at all.
-Jade Jackson
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