Sitting here
with the time machine,
I make glorious plans.
I am taken back to
memories
some golden, some bitter
and taken to dreams,
allowing myself the conceit
of clairvoyance.
In the time machine
everything that I am not
does not matter
it’s just me
these fingers
this keyboards
and these thoughts
all
somehow
inexplicably
working in concert
for some creative
common end.
While a man sitting alone at
a machine
can hardly be called noble,
sometimes
if he strikes the idea
just right
and the Muse
has been kind
he’ll write something
that might make a difference
even if that difference
is only
a smile.
So,
I keep trying,
though the ideas be
modest or miniscule.
Perhaps they’ll outlast me
as an incomplete legacy,
and
as I leave the time machine
of writing
I will re-engage
with the real-world
long enough and
deep enough
to hopefully find
still more
to bring back
to the machine.
most people, i think, go through each day wishing they could make a difference...you actually do so...that you've achieved this level of enlightenment at, what, 45,46,47?...wow!
ReplyDeleteRe- engaging with the real world is
ReplyDeleteimportant.Sadly,it doesn't compare to the other.At least you have a key to re-enter C S Lewis' wardrobe.It usually has to be handed back mid chilhood.Some naughty children hide them in their shoes and never give them back.Love your poems . Keep writing.They matter.
To make a difference, that is a worthy goal. I like your poetry, yours is a sensitive soul. I especially like your disclaimer at the top of your blog, wish I had been clever enough to think of it first!
ReplyDelete