What we view is
…………….often irrelevant.
What we hear is
…………….often unimportant.
What is –– is real,
…………….with that we make our meal.
What we say of-
……………..ten has little appeal.
At times it oft
……………..sounds so like us unreal.
It’s what we feel
……………..of which we are parent
that may be real
……………..yet not so apparent.
So when I say goodbye
……………..do not venture a sigh
……………..will I see you again
or should I say adieu
……………..leave you in your milieu
…………………………….and go with tears of rain?
Auf Wiedersehen
……………..might be better than a plain
vaya con dios
……………..watch the horse eat oats
…………………………….walk a dream along the Seine
……………..you with God not I –– odd
It could be all the same.
Maybe I’ll just chortle a ciao
……………..slowly humbly bow
……………………………..leave everything for now.
We can’t always find revealing words
……………..which can be so dialectical
to explain our feelings at the core
……………..which at times can be quite whimsical
bouncing between moment’s consciousness
……………..and emotional revelations
bound by stanzaic rigid exactness
……………..varied by cultural distractions.
We are always being viewed
……………..being perceived
……………..feeling something real
opening our doors of exiting
……………..expressions
……………..impressions
but we must always return
……………..to our doors ––
……………..closed,
……………..key turned
………intrinsical
…………… ..reflecting our all
………analytical
……………..as we then recall
……………..quite informal
………yet illogical
……………..in our citadel
……………..as solitary wish-
……………..ful ships on which
……………..we hope to reach
……………..those other beach-
……………..es on which we
……………..can prostrate free-
……………..ly in silent mys-
……………..teries and truthful myths.
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