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