How Strange This Thought

 

For what has been my life till now

each year, each week, each day

A thought has plagued my brain somehow

I can’t throw the thought away.

It’s not to write a famous poem

nor have the gold of kings

and surely not to fly like birds

my shirts aren’t built for wings.

How strange this thought that never goes

unless at sleep I be

or with the friends I love so much

that love such folks as me.

There have been times this thought of mine

has driven me to cry –

and press my cheek up to the pane

awaiting there to die.

But reasoning and logic holds

in solid men and true

that such a fate for me I’m sure

just simply wouldn’t do.

No, I trust that time will take me

and this thought will tag along

so for now I’ll just keep doing

In hopes that I’m not wrong.

for what has been my life till now

and from this I shall grow

to wish before they lay me down

this thought I’ll get to know.

                           zc