could be done differently
and more to our liking.
This makes us angry,
and we argue. Then one
has the fortune
to notice feeling,
the real thing,
had been growing all the while.
(Color is now deftly handled.)
And sometimes what we feel
as real is not.
Weren’t we excited
by what we thought true
(we flashed with excitement)
and chagrined to discover
new feelings still grew?
(A continent, almost,
had come into view.)
No longer would we like
what once we had liked
(Who finds truth “unchanging?")
and we puckishly explored
our changing minds.
(Their spaciousness seemed lush.)
Really, what was true,
and we agreed,
was always otherwise.
(We wanted to be honest.)
Circumstances intervened.
We were helpless to act,
made to settle, where we were,
and do what we had done.
No comments:
Post a Comment