We dream
of flying
but we cannot leave the ground.
We long
for home
but only have temporary accommodation.
We reach
for something
just outside our grasp.
Most of the time we walk through this world blindly,
putting our fists through walls which aren’t there,
chasing shadows.
Reality always seems
just around the next corner,
over the horizon.
But every once
in a golden while,
at times when we least expect it,
we gaze into heaven
for the briefest of moments,
and we are undone.
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NaPoWriMo
Day Twenty-Seven
Prompt: Write a poem inspired by an entry from the Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows. The entries are very vivid – maybe too vivid! But perhaps one of the sorrows will strike a chord with you, or even get you thinking about defining an in-between, minor, haunting feeling that you have, and that does not yet have a name.
I started with ONISM : n. the frustration of being stuck in just one body, that inhabits only one place at a time, which is like standing in front of the departures screen at an airport, flickering over with strange place names like other people’s passwords, each representing one more thing you’ll never get to see before you die—and all because, as the arrow on the map helpfully points out, you are here.
