We are like balloons …
bumping around in a dark room
with the fan on high.
Dog-eared logic says, “Living blind”
must have purpose since
“Pin the tail on the donkey”
appears to be the game
we came to play.
I could tell good stories
about my forays in forbidden bushes,
arms extended feeling full of hope
for finding just the place
to pin my tail.
If we could gather in my living room
most certainly the stories of our
hunt for happiness would entertain.
There would be hooting, howling,
rolling on the floor with laughter
at the telling of our exploits
in the name of “right results”.
I suspect, because I am an optimist,
there is a doorway hidden in plain sight.
We pass by it every day, but the
muddle of our busy minds and
our hot pursuit of nowhere,
causes us to miss the opening.
Maybe the doorway isn’t singular,
maybe truth belongs to individuals only
maybe the doorway isn’t a door at all
maybe it is a painting or a poem
or seeing the good in people,
even in a dark room.