By Larry Powers
What tarries past these windows,
Or is this all there is to living?
I see my breath on the pane,
But am I really, truly alive?
Is there something calling me,
Pulling me from this existence?
This day-to-day emptiness; striving,
But never making any headway.
How long since I really dreamed?
Outside of deceitful fantasy dreams,
Making me feel hollow inside, dirty.
As a child, I imagined great things.
Now I sit looking through this glass,
Wishing I were somewhere else.
What happened to all the noble plans –
The desire to whisk my wife off her feet?
Am I still the man she married?
Or have I compromised, fading
To colorless, flavorless complacency,
Forgetting what she needs of me?
Is there a dream, a driving passion,
Compelling me to seek new heights?
Can I then muster enough courage
To risk the dangers of the challenge?
Leaning back in this padded chair,
A dream begins to spark to flame.
With one movement, I can rise
And walk to freedom, but dare I?
Just a few steps away lay an adventure,
And a gallant try to rescue my beauty.
Or from this position, as a spectator,
I can observe, listless and uninvolved.
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