~ Coming to
I’ve done what everyone else did.
I’ve discarded dreams and hopped on bandwagons, swam
mainstream, and I’ve welcomed regret
and called trite the impossible habit to break.
And now I’m here.
The dinner is ready and I cannot eat.
The meat sits in a white lake of its dish.
The wine waits.
Coming to
has its rewards: nothing is promised, but nothing is taken away.
I’ve heart and time to be saved by grace,
I’ve places to go and all the old reasons not to. ~
.-.-. -.-.- .-.-. -.-.- .-.-. -.-.- .-.-. -.-.-
Coming to This by Mark Strand
We have done what we wanted.
We have discarded dreams, preferring the heavy industry
of each other, and we have welcomed grief
and called ruin the impossible habit to break.
And now we are here.
The dinner is ready and we cannot eat.
The meat sits in the white lake of its dish.
The wine waits.
Coming to this
has its rewards: nothing is promised, nothing is taken away.
We have no heart or saving grace,
no place to go, no reason to remain.
~ Stella wrote ... ~ 