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Octave

by Richard Vince

There is a world, somewhere, to which
I will never belong; which will never
Be mine. It is only inhabited by
Strangers, some of whom I know.

Endless nights stretch into eternity,
Illuminated by the bright lights
That exist to delight her heart and
To sparkle in eyes I will never see.

My long Summer evenings happen
Largely to other people as my
Constantly tired eyes try to close.
My soul rusts from the tears
That try to keep me awake.

There is no happiness for me to find
In that semi fabled city of
Possibility and adventure: only
A different sadness for me to try
To wring out of my spirit;
A melancholy certainty to replace
The creeping unknown.

04/04/2013

Posted on 04/19/2013
Copyright © 2022 Richard Vince

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Nadia Gilbert Kent on 05/12/13 at 03:34 AM

Or alcohol at the expense of being prolific and thoughtful (and this is). But yes, alcohol.

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