the world is too much with me

i think it is too late for me
to have realized this world 
is too much for me 

i am stumbling out of my den
having mistaken the snow
for cherry blossoms

i would like to go back only
i can’t and i am cold and not
clothed for this, too new

for this old, old rage and ancient
lies. i thought i was wise but 
i just learned how to speak

i play with words like toddler toys
only to find out i am expected
to remake the world with them

and everything i’ve said 
has already been recorded
to be used in my trial at the end

i dream daily of clover meadows
and bulbs burrowed in the dirt
and only today did i wonder

if i will ever see them bloom
if i am one of those side characters
who dies before the finale

i think it is too late for me
to say no to life and unbury
all these sacred seeds

---

Two post-scripts: First, I’m not sure about the title. It’s a nod to William Wordsworth’s The World Is Too Much With Us which is a wonderful poem but if you have other suggestions, please comment them!

And second, which do you prefer: some musings by me at the beginning of the post about what inspired the poem (like last week’s post) or a format more like this, just letting the poem stand alone? Or I could try adding thoughts (if I have any) after the poem. There are pros and cons to each but I’d love to hear your thoughts.

As always, thank you so much for being here.