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.