Same Time
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sometimes the more we eat the hungrier we are
hearing voices floating from afar
the missed songs of ancient ancestors
the youth we have given to the earth
the many skins that need to be unwrapped
to be mapped and written upon by many hands that might decipher
a purpose yet unknown. It is a shower of flowers that flow
through every fine eye glowing
legs thrust into the air with all the dismissed care
of first steps misplaced
angular, groping, griping fingers arms splayed and displayed
like a first time out of water octopus, out of synch and out of rhyme
riveted upon its course.
Driven by what lies beneath many layers of skin and bone
hair and feelings coming from
what is the only truth
I may have eggs for breakfast
I may not turn away from toast
the most difficult decisions one could make are minor
in the scheme of things, the dream of things
What we call life, a squeak of sound
we will all say was heard
we will all awake into our lives
and go away again and come back again
and we may have those eggs again
for breakfast
Copyright © Vernon Witmer | Year Posted 2021
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