and settle,
like a leaf in a pond,
into the absence of color.
i am aware of the dangers,
and aware, too,
of the blessed relief
of authentic being,
with all its
shortcomings
and quotidian terrors.
able at last to settle
for who i am,
i discover that
it isn't so bad.
this scrim of suffering
is only that,
a scrim,
a veil,
a partition between
what one might wish
and whatever may be.
Certain that we
deserve better
than to be separated
from our ideals,
we medicate our way
to a pale perfection,
consisting of timidity
and troubled sleep.
evening by placid evening,
we become strangers to ourselves,
Lonely for something similar to a memory,
"liking" other lonelinesses
while the books
biodegrade
on the shelves.
i have been away from myself.
coming back from the long journey
into the second dimension,
i inhale
into the gray
of a soft, perpetual grief --
and am grateful.
--Mr. Gobley
