Sunday, June 4, 2000 8:45 a.m. pdt
"Words Are Failing to Answer Those Questions Again"
I wake up every morning and everything seems the same
The birds engage in their song, chirping the sleep from my eyes
I proclaim I feel great love, and I bask in the feelings of perfection
But real life always sticks it's great ugly head into the window
And scares away my peaceful reverie.
The world is not perfect, nor are the denizens
The idea may be perfect, but ideas reside in ethereal space
And seldom knock on the door of the reality house where I live this morning
I want and need, as do the others, but we don't get our way, and we never did
Harsh, cruel reality writes a different book.
He keeps different records.
He laughs at the outcomes.
Reality holds his candle to my perfection, and it burns.
Reality snuffs out my dreams and curdles my peace.
I know life is not at all unclear and insufficient
I know life is full and rich
I dream today of a future where I am happy
I guess I really never thought of happiness before as a destination
Happy and Reality seldom make good bedfellows
Happy resides in the heart, and reality resides just outside my frame of reference
The same old worries never leave me,
They just intensify and retract in better times.
I am not a vessel into which the problems shall be poured
I am supposed to be a rock of circumstance, helping people in my stead
Nothing like harsh reality was going to knock me up the side of the head again.
But it is happening,
And through it all, I have to make amends with my demons, and
Focus all the dreams so they counteract the reality.
Perfection will out of my dreams, and seep ever so unnoticed
into the waking hours, permeating that dreadful beast Reality,
Until he calls it a day and departs.
My heart is full
But my head hurts.
The birds sing,
And as time advances, I will pause to hear their song again soon.
Link to the complete graphical versions of Poetry in 2000Link to the graphical version of this poem.
copyright 1999-2004 by Michael F. Nyiri
ElectricPoetry
AllThingsMike
