I let my book fall open to the poem, "Final Soliloquy of the Interior Paramour", on page 444, and waited to discover something...anything. What I found awarded me a brand new perspective.
Two lovers sit, bundled together waiting for the first light of evening. They sit and embrace the simplicity of the twilight's early light, and ponder to themselves if this world that they live in, if the beauty they see in this moment, as the sun is dying below the hills, is as good as it is going to get.
Placing all differences aside and collecting themselves among the gurgling mass of humanity, they contemplate the charring questions that conjoin every human being. Is this moment really as as good as it is going to get or does the only thing better than this exist inside the imagination? What if the only God there is belongs to our imagination, therefore God and the imagination are but figments that exist solely within our minds? While harboring these deep thoughts of eternity and existence, they realize that no matter what is and what isn't, they have each other, and that is all they really need.
I've been sitting on this blog since Monday; I find myself more and more tangled up, the more I try to unravel it. The more I look at this poem, the more I discover and the more I re-think, so I am just going to submit this before I lose my mind.
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