A Borrowed Life
Before I knew of choice
My God was still.
This empty cup
Far too fool to fill.
My eyes untrained to see,
Were married to belief.
My heart sought other than itself
To find relief.
This chambered heart so music deaf
To never understand
The meaning of the silence
In a breath.
Singular and insulated
Dreams untouched by hand.
Graceful dripping gossamer’s
Whose icy touch I fought.
Embattled black or ghostly white
Forever lay uncaught
My eyes still feel
The curving of the light.
My brain still bends
In forming each new thought.
So let me not disturb
My Gods’ diminished sight,
Or curse this borrowed life
I wish I’d bought.
Copyright © Vernon Witmer | Year Posted 2021
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