Somewhere in my mind, hands are
Reaching out, trying to grasp
Elusive thoughts, twigs connected to
Branches growing from trunks
Drawing life from roots embedded
In an Earth of imagination.

The last time their fingers gained
Purchase on one is too long ago
For me to recall now,
Like I looked the other way
For just long enough to allow
The gap between myself and
My dreams to become too wide
For me to reach across.

Perhaps that is the gap inside me
I am always aware of, the void
I have for so long thought of as
A lack of something else.

Or perhaps I am so used to
Living with my sadness that
I haven't stopped looking, even though
There is nothing more I need to find.
Maybe I will smile gently to myself
When I die and think, "oh,
"That was it then."

It will probably be one of those things
That I think I know, but
Never quite get around to accepting,
Like instantly forgotten wisdom
That I think I will always remember.

I wonder if anyone else is like this?
Maybe the man sitting opposite me
Is thinking these same thoughts as he
Reads through his endless page
Of computer script...
Or maybe it's just me, and everyone else
Actually lives their lives instead of
Looking for the flaws.

12/12/2003

Posted on 12/13/2003
Copyright © 2024 Richard Vince