Myth of Understanding

Who can possibly see the world the way I do? Who can possibly understand my words and my heart? The one that gives me life... breath... spirit... resides in me, and yet I cannot be whole as long as I still have me. While I exist as me amidst this world, the longing also exists...

We are humans. We are, after all, only humans...


DEAR FRIENDS

Dear friends, reproach me not for what I do,
Nor counsel me, nor pity me; nor say
That I am wearing half my life away
For bubble-work that only fools pursue.
And if my bubbles be too small for you,
Blow bigger then your own:—the games we play
To fill the frittered minutes of a day,
Good glasses are to read the spirit through.

And whoso reads may get him some shrewd skill;
And some unprofitable scorn resign,
To praise the very thing that he deplores:—
So friends (dear friends), remember, if you will,
The shame I win for singing is all mine,
The gold I miss for dreaming is all yours.

~ Edwin Arlington Robinson
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Gino-Caron.com