I search for an answer.
Not to who am I,
why am I here, where am I going?
But to a down to earth question
about why I think I'm unlike you.
As if your joy, your pain were distint,
foreign to me.
No feeling is totally foreign.
Whatever you've felt, I've known.
Varying degrees of heaven and hell
take turns with us all.
I know the feeling of agony and bliss,
even if I haven't experienced
your specific hunger or fullness,
your love or your hate.
But FEAR keeps me from diving
too deeply into ocean of awareness
where I may drown when I find you.
What if I plunged into your feelings of loss?
from war, the death of a child,
homelessness, bare survival?
Or simply how you feel when
you're content with your world?
Where would it end?
If I had the clarity to see
I imagine the answer ...
I'd have to love you, so much.
Then the question transforms to:
(For Poets United.