Finding a Moment

 Go home and write
      a page tonight.
      And let that page come out of you—
      Then, it will be true.
– Langston Hughes
~
Though when time would suggest
it is an easy ask,
this only task we have in life,
is to speak our truths,
who it is we might be,
what we believe,
how it could possibly be
that all of our time spent
in speculation
just another round of
wanting to know,
to give us reason
to live our lives by,
understand the whole
no matter the loss of insight
brought upon ourselves
with some unraveled deceit.
~
Finding the words
the best way to relate my story,
glancing out windows
where my life once used to be,
sort of meant to be,
the picket fence round gardens,
dog running free,
children in a play set
being watched by
you and me.
~
My view is a spotlight
across a little street,
windows like my own,
yet different lives,
we all seem to share a similar
structure
meant to hold form
rather  beyond an original,
that formula had its way
for decades or more,
and now,
in an aging pattern
of recognizing our mortality,
here to stay,
this will be the remainder
of my game.
~
I would look for my children
for theirs are the memory
I reflect upon,
standing by the river
teaching them both
how to dribble a ball,
skate on ice,
master a bicycle,
show excitement when they search
my own eyes,
rather than letting them see
some pain I must hide
I would wish they feel
laughter and love,
an eternal fantasy in dreams.
~
For now would these words be
the reality I am ask to only seem.

© Thom Amundsen 7/2020

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