05-11-2022, 10:10 AM (This post was last modified: 05-14-2022, 05:06 AM by Quixilated.)
Pursuit
Rowing is obsession. A Sisyphean task, our pursuit of perfection.
Rowing through ache and blister. we push past ourselves, breathless, stretching the laws of physics.
Searching for the elusive symbiosis of mind, carbon, and sinew. Many become one,
a house of cards against which wind and wave conspire, each catch a chance for redemption.
To what end, This trial and tribulation; the finish line, a medal?
The crimson dawn blooming over Flat Rock dam, hearing the laughter of friends over glassy waters, a blue heron caught in flight on a misty morning.
What better measures of us? Is not our pursuit of perfection, best realized in the heart?
Rowing is obsession,
a Sisyphean task;
this pursuit of perfection.
Through ache and blister we struggle,
pushing past ourselves,
stretching the laws of physics.
We long for the elusive symbiosis
of mind, carbon, and sinew.
Many becoming one, resplendent.
Tho’ merely a house of cards
against which wind and wave conspire,
each catch a chance at redemption.
This trial and tribulation
to what possible end;
the finish line, a medal?
What better measure of us,
than a friend’s laughter heard across the water;
a blue heron caught in flight on a misty morning.
A fool’s errand from the start,
Plato’s dream; conceived in mind’s eye, can only be realized in the heart.
What is rowing but obsession, a sisyphean task, this pursuit of perfection. Through ache and blister we struggle. Each stroke a house of cards against which wind and wave conspire to keep us from our destination.
Seduced by the promise of the new, Each catch a resurrection, we long for the elusive symbiosis of mind, carbon, and sinew. In pursuit of transcendent motion we push past ourselves, stretching the laws of physics. Many becoming one, resplendent. This trial and tribulation to what possible end; the finish line, a medal, the adoration of family and friends? Can the struggle be our salvation? A friend’s laughter across the water; a blue heron caught in flight on a misty morning is a better measure of us. This pursuit of perfection, it seems, a fool’s errand from the start. Plato’s dream, conceived in mind’s eye, can only be realized in the heart.
What is rowing but obsession,
a sisyphean task,
the pursuit of perfection.
Through ache and blister we struggle.
Each stroke a house of cards
against which wind and wave conspire
to keep us from our destination.
Seduced by the promise of the new,
we long for the elusive symbiosis
of mind, carbon, and sinew.
If lucky, many become one, resplendent.
Pushing past ourselves,
stretching the laws of physics
in pursuit of transcendent motion.
This trial and tribulation
to what possible end;
the finish line, a medal,
the adoration of family and friends?
Maybe our destination is something else?
Hearing a friend’s laughter across the water;
a blue heron caught in flight on a misty morning
are a better measure of us.
This pursuit of perfection, it seems,
a fool’s errand from the start.
Plato’s dream, conceived in mind’s eye, can only be realized in the heart.
What is rowing but obsession,
a sisyphean task bound to fail,
a compulsion, this pursuit of perfection.
Through ache and blister we struggle.
Each stroke a house of cards
against which wind and wave conspire
to keep us from our destination.
Seduced by the promise of each new stroke,
still, we pursue,
to make the whole greater than its parts.
An elusive symbiosis of mind, carbon, and sinew.
If lucky, many become one, resplendent,
laws of physics bound.
We push past ourselves
in pursuit of motion transcendent.
This trial and tribulation;
to what end, this pursuit of perfection?
For the finish line, a medal,
the adoration of family and friends?
Maybe our destination is something else?
A friend’s laughter across the water;
a Blue Heron caught in flight on a misty morning
are a better measure of us.
This pursuit of perfection, it seems,
a fool’s errand from the start.
Plato’s dream, conceived in mind’s eye,
can only be realized in the heart.
The struggle is our salvation. The journey our destination.
Pursuit
What is rowing but obsession,
a sisyphean task bound to fail,
a compulsion, this pursuit of perfection.
Through ache and blister we struggle.
Each stroke a house of cards
against which wind and wave conspire
to keep us from our destination.
Seduced by the promise of each new stroke,
still, we pursue,
to make the whole greater than its parts.
An elusive symbiosis of mind, carbon, and sinew.
If lucky, many become one, resplendent,
laws of physics bound.
We push past ourselves
in pursuit of motion transcendent.
This trial and tribulation;
to what end, this pursuit of perfection?
For the finish line, a medal,
the adoration of family and friends?
Maybe our destination is something else?
A friend’s laughter across the water;
a Blue Heron caught in flight on a misty morning
are a better measure of us.
This pursuit of perfection, it seems,
a fool’s errand from the start.
Plato’s dream, conceived in mind’s eye,
can only be realized in the heart.
The struggle is our salvation.
The journey our destination.
I didn't go full Knot but I trimmed and rearranged a good bit. Haven't been able to get rid of the last stanza though!
