I feel like such a fool
I never can reach anyone
when I want to. In fact,
I've never wanted to. Except a few times,
when somebody I love is suffering, and
it's always something terminal,
though maybe life
is not always what's dying.
But I'm always unable to help
when I try. I come clumsily
close, fall clumsily short
though I seem to reach people
spectacularly, when I wasn't even
trying. At random, just saying
random things, off the top of some
cliff, which for some reason go in.
I think we're all in the same boat
of being the only one who
we can even come close
But each of us has a million chinks
in what passes for fortifications, and we all
catch glimpses, unbidden, from each other, sometimes
and what we see shocks us
as to the bad, as to the good, sometimes
even as to the familiar
I don't know what I'm trying to
say. I don't know even what I am trying
to help. I don't feel you're like me,
or me like you. But I like you, and
I wish I could save you from this.
What you're trying to do. Which
is going to miss.
I mean, I don't know that. Maybe you'll
succeed: where I've always always failed,
to help someone in need when I was trying
to. Or you might help some one, anyway,
just at random.
when it's too late to help you
A Pocketful of Poesy was and is again a Poem-a-Day(-on-Average) Blog! For 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, and now for 2017 and going forward, you may expect to see 365 poems every year, 366 for leap years.
Try the RANDOM button, to sample the sometimes surprising breadth of quality (and in several Novembers, breathtaking quantity as well), or click the "ANY GOOD" label* for those poems labeled with it. On any poem, old or new, feel free to offer your remarkable insight or critical acumen.
*I haven't yet revisited many pockets and stretches of time to appraise and label the "any goods," so some are missing. Please feel free to point out omissions, or - especially - erroneous inclusions, in comments.