Thursday, January 10, 2013


I've sat at long tables, eaten fine meals, and listened to stories that became songs.
Felt the luck of self-discovery and rejoiced only to find that I was wrong.
I’ve struck gold in a relationship and saw how easily spent the treasure.
Went broke like my heart, it became the start of a man without measure.

I’ve been picking flowers from the air although nothing is there;
it’s merely a dream I see, no form of reality, just reverie.
Like a map without north, like a self-created myth;
a lie lying inside a truth, a mask trying to conceal it.

I want to make faces in a crowd, show who’s in control of my character;
jump on a soapbox and say all the things the world never says.
I want to turn myself into a statue of permanent happiness; a fulfillment,
with a countenance of contentment; forever this way, under the sun.

I want to touch my face and love its resident,
not run from myself, not wear shadows like a coat.
I want to throw a line to the night, hook a star in life’s honor,
reel in a purpose and let it guide me home.

From the book Kairos (print version only)

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