One

I go back to the way I've been, alone
Through most of every day. I've
Ceased to dream that things will
Change, and gained from having
Dropped that thought. The soft
Spring sun shines overhead. The
Trees grow tentatively green. I go
About my mundane chores, and
Mull the most unlikely things,
And pause, a godless, cloistered
Monk, to add onto this manuscript,
The bread-crumb trail from where
I came. I've come alone. I once had
Dreamed another's crumbs would meet
With mine. They didn't. That's all right
With me. I'm fine here by myself.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 89 times
Written on 2016-04-12 at 19:42

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