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.


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.