Vernon Witmer Poet Prose Poetry

Notes About The Poem

Futile Reach

I have not written poems, lived a life, nor shed a tear,
that half-contained within it’s touch restraint 
that I might fear erase my soul; 
enmeshed and shaven bare, naked corpse unfurled. 
Forlorn and striving; reckoning recklessly 
with words and feelings mighty and fleeting 
as bridges crushed and rusted, through rushing passages sailed. 
Longing for the almost made. A light no other like, 
such light unknown, shone through ragged weeping eyes 
with heart as heavy stone. Stepping sideways wither cry 
or sigh to reach without a sapping strength, 
what cannot, will not, be constrained or caught.

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