The Writer's Voice
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Now
by
Gary Gordon
No story begins in the present
We walk on hollow bones
remembering past pleasures
to feed the hearts we've carved of stone.
No thought, no deed, nor touch of hand
can free us from our tomb.
So we live in aching emptiness
for "Now"....there is no room.
I sit alone and thinking
how this simple folly seems
to have led me into Loneliness....
a land of dark and shifting dreams.
Where Youth is in my hand
and its sight is in my eyes....
and I manufacture Truth
from such simple little lies.
Believing as I search for Love
I'll see it coming!....and I'll know!
The truth?....You never see love come....
You only see it when it goes....
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