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by Richard VinceIt looks like another world
Now: the length of day, the
Angle of light make different
Pictures from the ones my eyes
Send to my tired brain.
Colours and tastes, a tapestry
Of places my feet could tread
Contrast with the constricted
Space within which I moved
Today, afraid to step where
There was brightness.
And through it all, she
Strides: an unfamiliar shape
With the face of a stranger,
In front of places that
Do not look like home,
Perfectly offset by what is
Left outside the frame.
We are separated by
Miles, months, music; before
I can stop it, some part
Of my heart desires to
Go to where she is,
Even though it is
The last place I could call
Home.
But something calls to me,
Deep down in the room
I do not open: perhaps
It reminds me of my
Desire to create a fictional
World that could also
Pass for the real thing.
Or is it something darker:
The memory of everywhere
I never got to go?
11/22/2024 Posted on 07/13/2025
Copyright © 2026 Richard Vince
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Johanna May on 07/26/25 at 03:46 AM Isn’t it the Upanishads that said our destiny, which is shaped by our will, which is shaped by our desires. So ultimately the questions always ends up to: how great is the desire? Isn’t that trippy? Who we are now, was shaped by our greatest desire. I hope one day you find closure in yours. Your poems are always a medium from somewhere I didn’t think I needed. :) |
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