Another brief kiss
It was suggested I write another
poem, though I’ve nothing to say;
perhaps about my inarticulacy
which no one cares to hear
yet, how is that my concern?
This is who I am, apparently,
and how I occupy my time,
though it’s just another intoxication,
luring me from the real.
I should never think in terms of gain –
that I am moving forward or upward
toward the truth and beyond;
never consider that I have anything important
to learn and convey to my own soul or others.
There’s no place for any of us to get to,
just a lonely divestiture and this –
another leaned over, brief kiss,
trying to brush away the cobwebs,
like in any other fairytale,
from my ancient, enchanted eyes.
O child of God, a dream within a dream –
this divinely-crafted illusion of self.