Ricochets

Hankering after the reality
stoically, I feast upon the fantasy,
my slowly running dry well of memories

sometimes it’s only just an appraisal
of what I never will be able to taste,
stolen glances of intimacy,
words that I read and project,

echoes of what I hear
which fling back inside my head
as ricochets,
make more damage
than one well-aimed shot,

I see distorted pictures
in the fragments that remain,
shadows that once belonged to the light,
to a person who is flesh and blood
who lives and loves
caresses and kisses

the peace I know comes from resignation
knowing that the other side of the world,
even if it’s green or dark,
a land of sea and new
as in birth, as in discovering

will be forever unknown to me.

© Rudi J.P. Lejaeghere
29/08/2015