The world represented to me is a mirror of the space
I care to see, a reflection of the fallibility I am.
My tendency is to close the window from oppressive noise
And beat a drum to drown out the excessive silence that I hear.
All of it would slip beneath my door
In the smoke of the building burning around me
As I go about my toast and jam
Disregarding what papers say
Of a man’s uncompromising attitude in fighting with himself.
I say, “I do not have the time.”
When in truth all my life is time I have
But do not take it to use with the where withal
Of any talents steeped in an honest assessment
Of my humanity and how I might define it if asked.
At some point we are all put on trial for our lives
Being defendant, plaintiff, prosecutor and judge.
What we lack is the jury of our peers we will accept as being adept
To live their ways as I might live mine
And arbitrate the differences that do and must take place
In order the earth does not tip more than it does.
At every station we congregate our faces are more
Than merely petals on a wet black bough;
With ears that hear and eyes that see and lips to voice
What may be hidden in our hearts longing to come out
Though we may not even know such things exist.
We are a funny, perhaps even a silly species
We put so much thinking into what to wear
And so little at times what to care about
That may have some meaning and connect us to a stranger
Though that person live ten thousand miles away
And does not see things as we do and still give credence to the thought
“How can I justify my life if I cannot justify his own?”
– K.A. Bryce
© 2015, poem and illustration (A Lost Thought), K.A. Bryce, All rights reserved