An Occasional Blurring

Normally you are far sighted,
able to see at a distance, like a prophet,
able to discern the wind and details
of what is just on the other side of sight.

Often blind to what is in front of you.
but at times, someone – you have never known
whether it is God or his devil –
insists on blurring your eyes.

Near or far, you cannot see
much further than the next step,
and seeing becomes an act of movement,
unsure whether the next step brings progress

or a long stumbling into an abys

There is no way to know, save the next step,
and so you walk. Slow at times. Faster at times,
hoping to fly, against all odds, mad as a poet
waiting for the breath of God.

About this poem

At times, I write a poem with a single line in my head, and have no idea where it might lead. At times, I have lived my life the same way. Somehow, I have survived. Now and again, I have flown.

The root word for “inspiration” means God-breathed.

The photograph was taken near Greenwich, NY.

Tom