NeverGoingBack

Spheres

These eight luminary surreal spheres,
each embracing its own confined flame,
waltz, glide, flow across my eyes;
captivating with every move, they call.

To which allurement do I answer aloud,
for with silent screams have I yearned,
but knowing my place, I stand alone;
still without response, they call.

If I were to ask a one of what it says,
would it not circumvent and flee?
Perhaps it would encompass, instead,
my percept within the folds of doubt?

Within the grasp of others do they fly,
and each one dimming but for a time,
until breaking free of an uncaring clutch;
still I cannot reach, and they call.

In silent awe I do watch each one intently,
though three fly a mile atop the others,
I see clearly into the flame of each one;
taunting beyond touch – unknowing – they call.

Ahh! If I were to acquire but a single one,
what flame wouldn't be brightened?
No fewer than eight burning intensely,
but where hides the ninth to be kindled?

'Tis a gift and grace to be in their presence,
for of the billion souls in existence today,
a single handful find such a fortune;
in their presence and no more, they call.

Contented I should be with such favor –
as a child looks on with magnificent awe –
yet contented I am not, and will not be;
until to one, I answer their call.

To any one I could offer the world,
my world – so dim with hope –
with such a flame how it could sparkle!
Alas, none know of their call, nor their curse.

And I sit – watching.

September 6, 1999