Friday, December 19, 2003

The Long Wait

Sometimes when I reread
my writings,
I get these scary out-of-the-body

Who is this stranger, I wonder.
Why does he at all write?
Why is he unsocial
in the midst
of joyous chattering voices?
Is he incapable of
Or has he shut his ears
and closed his eyes ?
He seeks no approval,
he cares nought for

All that matters to him
is what he thinks,
what he writes.

That’s not how the
others are.

He sticks out unpleasantly,
like a prickly cactus
in a garden of flowers.

Frankly, he is a puzzle.
He gives me the creeps.
I’m uncomfortable
with him.

Maybe one day, I hazard a wish,
he will understand himself,
and all the others around him.

And then, hopefully,I will be
able to understand him.

I am waiting for that day.

It might take eternity, though.


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