I have resigned myself:
I don't, unfortunately, have enough time in the universe
To become a good enough poet
To say the thing or things I feel I must say but can't and never will
And that is just how it is:
As it turned out, I was not the one to say that thing or those things;
That will have to be somebody else.

Those thoughts or words or phrases
Will never come fidgeting from my fingers,
Or spilled from my lips

Also not me:
The greatest lover or friend who ever lived
The most insightful thinker
The most productive
Most helpful
Most entertaining
Or most cunning or brave

Not beautiful good or truthful,
I have scanned through a hundred philosophies of life
And dimensions by which they measure success
And I have not found a way of thinking about my life
In which it can be made to look deliberate

I didn't even have much fun:
Golly. What a disaster.

However, apart from dying, which I'm sure will not be pleasant,
I am very blessed to have not (as yet) suffered much.

Poetry by Andrew Bindon
Read 744 times
Written on 2017-04-21 at 00:42

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one trick pony The PoetBay support member heart!
This makes me smile, the truth of self-knowledge told forthright, but, perhaps a bit modest, as the forthrightness is a wonderful quality. I bet you make a good friend.