Ricochets
Hankering after the reality stoically, I feast upon the fantasy, my slowly running dry well of memories sometimes it’s only just an appraisal of what I never will be able to taste, stolen glances of intimacy, words that I read and project, echoes of what I hear which fling back inside my head as ricochets, make more damage than one well-aimed shot, I see distorted pictures in the fragments that remain, shadows that once belonged to the light, to a person who is flesh and blood who lives and loves caresses and kisses the peace I know comes from resignation knowing that the other side of the world, even if it’s green or dark, a land of sea and new as in birth, as in discovering will be forever unknown to me. © Rudi J.P. Lejaeghere 29/08/2015