Sometimes, I grow tired of constantly moving, yet never moving forward. I don't believe the things I want are overly ambitious, but somehow the distance between where I am and where I want to be always seems so great. In my heart, though, I know that these things would never make me truly happy. And to be fair, I could not possibly be happier than I am now.
Rest
A little space is what I seek;
a little space, no more;
a shelter from the manic week
behind a modest door;
a breath of time to pacify;
a tender breeze to stray
across my notions, all awry,
and limber limbs, asplay;
and silence, silence over all
to carry me to rest;
a respite from the teeming squall,
and I will find me blessed.
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3 comments:
The "teeming squall" = "your wife"??
GROWL.
I have no wife.
Gee.
That's because "a poet looks at the world the way a man looks at a woman." Perhaps if you'd hone in your gaze like an ordinary man, you'd see the woman you've been waiting for.
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