When I feel
Displaced
From reality
My tendency has always been
To retreat
To the world
In my head
There are mountains there
Which only I can scale
There are depths
Which only I can swim
There are spectres there as well…
Which only I can see
Formed of my own flesh and blood
The only fragments of
Life outside
That remain
Meandering aimless
Malevolent in their blind ambition
To exist
I have never felt at home
More so than
When I am completely without
Attachment
Untethered and
Unbound
By what I believe to be
Seeing instead
What may be
If only
Deviate and disperse
Delta dispels
Notions of
Monochromatic
Even dichromatic
Palette
Full spectrum burst
Splayed on yonder wall
Evidence of a crime
That would leave even
Darkly dreaming analysts
Weak in the knees
So it is
That what is cannot often be
Without what is not
And the difference between
Is smaller than one might imagine
Objects, and the Distance Between Them 
You’re good!
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I appreciate the comment. 🙂 Thank you for reading and taking the time to leave your thoughts.
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👏👏👏 awesome i like the ending: the difference between is toooo small to imagine
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Yes, almost as if it weren’t there at all at times…
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It’s been sometime since I read Poems like these from you. Beautiful.
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I take that as a high honor, friend. It has been a long time since I have been in a place from which such poems are born, and even longer since I have walked away unscathed. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for your comment and support.
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I’m happy that you’re back in your poem zone.
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However small it is .. Mightier it is !!
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So very true, this. You have gleaned an important message… There is such strength in those things we think of as miniscule.
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There’s beauty in being alone, I guess. You are your only demon.
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There is beauty in solitude… But the same as with anything else, we must be mindful not to covet that beauty or forsake all of the beauty that can be found elsewhere. Balance is needed…
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“So it is
That what is cannot often be
Without what is not
And the difference between
Is smaller than one might imagine”
How do I choose just some of this brilliant work to highlight when every word is neon?
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Oh, Maggie, thank you so much for the thoughtful reading of and comment on this piece. As I am sure you understand, each of my poems are like children, and I hold them all close to my heart. It really means a lot when someone takes the time to revisit something I have previously written. As much as I love it, the fast-pace of this platform tends to bury our prior accomplishments to all those but the most determined.
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