This far, to where
You are but a distant
Thought, perhaps
Not even my own
One I may have
Read in a book
Or heard on the news.
This far, to where
My sadness belongs
To someone else,
Or at least a former
Version of myself
Dissolving as a dream
Gives way to the reality
Of the beautiful morning.
This far, to where
I am only able to
Perceive joy and lightness
In my days, peace
And healing in my dreams
All else glances from
My being like a rubber tipped
Arrow from the target.
© 2015 Rose Ann Penney
All rights reserved
You are but a distant
Thought, perhaps
Not even my own
One I may have
Read in a book
Or heard on the news.
This far, to where
My sadness belongs
To someone else,
Or at least a former
Version of myself
Dissolving as a dream
Gives way to the reality
Of the beautiful morning.
This far, to where
I am only able to
Perceive joy and lightness
In my days, peace
And healing in my dreams
All else glances from
My being like a rubber tipped
Arrow from the target.
© 2015 Rose Ann Penney
All rights reserved