An old man at twenty-eight
is how I feel sometimes
out of ideals and things worth doing
some deluded dreamer drifting
on the backwash of grace.
A grace which forever dries, as I approach the source.
Too frail to take life by storm
and too strong to let it pass quietly
I'm forever in the jangle space
between senselessness
and my longing for purpose.
And to the end of logic and back
many times I've been...
pressed against the mirror of faith there
I've seen, too often, nothing but my own eyes
staring back.
gallagher
30 Oct 75
— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —