For Who?

You spend a million moments

wrestling the truth.

Or waste away a thousand wonders

reflecting on your youth.

Regrets fall flat; forget all that.

A search can birth a blossom.

Bud a bloom, a youthful you,

And touch so much; the possible.

*

You tend to gaze at your own life

through a one-side point-of-view.

Or dig in depths to find the words

when the point is far and through.

You mean so well. You prob’ly know.

It’s more like, “What to do?”

A constant tear and nagging fear.

A dull and digging gloom.

*

Pretend the world was built for more,

but together it dies too.

A season comes, grows, changes, goes,

and maybe, so do you.

But time can race or stop or slow.

It’s more like, “For who?”

A question. A forward quest in thought,

an answer part of you.

 

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