What in the world am I missing?
I’m a word waiting to fill silence,
I am lips that aren’t yet kissing:
an unattained magnificence.
It’s not for lack of benevolence
(I’ve done my share of well-wishing
and my weekly Sabbath penance).
I guess I’ll have to keep fishing
for the key to my transcendence
while others keep dismissing
an unattained magnificence.
I once remarked down by the sea,
peppered white with frothy foam,
“My dear friend, can’t you see
that life is like a poem?
There’s the rich and fragrant loam,
each church-goer on bended knee,
and the cluttered cabinets in your home…
Each child giggling in infancy
and every moldy, musty tome
proves yet again, my dear, to me
that life is like a poem.”
Words are
a legacy
for our children and theirs
so that they do not repeat our
mistakes.
Plummet
and find your way
in the scattered fragments
of ego, passion, and truth in
yourself.
I pour myself another drink
while I take some time to think
about tomorrow
on time I borrow
from a life that ends in a blink.
“I look down and see
children dancing in the dark.
This is my answer.”
A friend and I were talking about the meaning of life and he asked me the question above. My reply was this poem.
A (wise) man of two faces 