Faces in the wind

Poetry of the Uncertain Soul

I watch an errant flower dance,
And wish I was what it was;
And wish I knew what it knew.
I watch the agile cat prance,
And want the sleep that it sleeps,
And want the hunt as it wants.
Such are my wants and likes,
Ephemeral as things within sight.
I am no who I am or,
Who I was or,
What I want.

I am not wind through summer leaves;
Whispering secrets in archaic melody,
And I cannot see worlds, in mere grains of sand,
Or, grand designs, by some great creator's hand.

I am the dust in the wake of a car,
I am that foolish, childhood scar;
That speaks of no victories, no battles won,
But a simple slip on a ladder rung.
I am no greater thought, no higher feeling;
My mind, a smoky chasm to leave one reeling.

I am a human adrift in life;
Catching on flotsam and jetsam but also, my father's eye.
I am only a human who cannot see,
Why a wanderer is not really, a thing to be.