what if I never met you
you were a person on the street.
never knowing or wanting,
I wouldn't care if you smiled
or said hello,
or wished me well..
We could pass and smile
and never know the strangeness
of our souls.
I would not care if you love
but I would still love you
as I do all humans,
in that colorless way that hopes the best
and wishes we all could get along.
oh!
but that silent brightness
I have seen...
or imagined it so,
shimmering from the depths
and radiating outward
when perhaps you weren't looking,
the thing I keep remembering,
hidden beneath your vest.
closed off from the world,
your beautiful halo of goodness.
for the friends I've met but yet to make*
i think of you tho
remind myself
not to..
which brings the image
of you all the more
into view.
i tell myself it is
not truly you
i am thinking of
but an ideal,
an idea of truth,
this better hue.
a wish on the lips
to spring forth
an image of us, as if
thinking of you,
you appear august
and fine.
and all my tact-less
wonders
would be forgiven
and we could start
as newly-met friends.
mine.
*Beyond a random 'hello' I seem to always stick my foot in it, saying the wrong thing, asking the wrong questions.. my timing is often horrible it seems, regardless whom I am speaking with.
What are these things we do to make a soul feel worth..less?
We are all living struggles.
Secrets
we keep out of view.
How can I say I am you,
when scars no one can see
may be living within you?
(or me..)
general thoughts that came to mind earlier today while reading Kay Boyle's The Long Walk at San Francisco State (1970)
