Small World

by Richard Vince

We had our June in April,
And now we have April in June.
Flowers may bloom or wither,
Leaves may darken or drop,
But I am nowhere to see them.

It seems I have been given
The illusion of time, but
The guilt it brings with it
Is all too real. Time is not
Really a gift if it has been
Converted from space.

The weight of other places,
Other worlds, other lives
Is even heavier on my heart
When it somehow comprises
Almost everywhere and
Everywhere is further away
Than it was only a few months

My dreams are now of
The most ordinary of things
But stand no more chance of
Coming true. What mask
Will September wear?


Posted on 06/11/2020
Copyright © 2020 Richard Vince

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