The Wisdom of a Blank Page

A poem.

Image by Pexels from Pixabay

Happiness bears no certainty,

Prolix words
Stretching on and on —
That special eviternity.
Chimerical. Palpable.
Longings that stretch from
one’s moon-face.

Happiness bears no certainty,

And maybe I demur against the future,
Where certainty is
But a tenuous figment of imagination,
And I,
Remaining moon-faced as ever,
Am but a young girl, with a hope.

There is no happiness, no certainty,

In our life
That stretches on and on
Like the Sun’s generous ray
Against the tip of my finger.
Comminatory, but She tries to cradle
what remains of a dream.

The impossible dream,

Of which they speak so tersely,
Growing into an argument of words
by the end an internecine flight,
Until I hear the cantillating birds,
And find that I stand where
Certainty exists,

And certainty is a blank page.