Wednesday, April 11, 2012

We tell ourselves

Life can be ironical.  Mine is.  It's as if I'm living out the chapters from Winesburg, Ohio.  It's where I endlessly roam.  My yearnings an unheard scream.  I am trapped in the teeming pull and push of it, fumbling along in the unbroken light.  Fighting a torrent of wind that leaves the world untouched.  Stumbling into misfits along the way.  Ever blundering towards them, with them, for them - from them. Ever and ever, dividing lines, telephone wires.

We all tell ourselves one thing and other's another.  Every step somehow a misstep.  Every step a struggle.  Every step gets steeper.

The horizon distant in all directions.  Reminding, remaining.  
We tell ourselves one thing.

Other's another.