Arnold Henry Poet I do not know?

I

I touch nothing when I extend my hand; shadows have no substance, but they generate 
more attention in this life than I.  I‘m seen, but I am really no notice, I make sounds but I 
am not heard.  Therefore, I take refuge in the inner most dungeons of my mind.  There I 
can seek sanctuary from this reality that ignores and tortures me with slow agonizing pain.  I 
want things I cannot have, and need things I will never get.  Surrounding myself with 
possibilities, so I have excuses for my failures.  The emptiness that centers my existence 
widens with each passing day.   Memories are just picture-less photo albums and my now 
has become lost episodes.
I make wishes each time I leave home, wishing that in this day I would find a pleasant 
moment.  However, in that search I get lost and cannot find my way, I end up starring into 
space for a star to wish upon to get home. 
I ask God, “why am I me?”  Only believing so I can have somewhere to place blames, for 
my actions, what I will become.  I do not want to live like this, but every door I pass through 
reading exit on both sides it seems I cannot leave the situations I find myself entwined.
I cannot see why it is so hard for me to find happiness, and Love! When will this become a 
maybe?  All I have are the thoughts and this vision in my dreams of me and someone in a 
romantic embrace.  Time does not seem to wait for me, so all I have to look forward to, are 
the echoes in my bedroom of past intimate encounters.////

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