An Epitaph on Wishing

An Epitaph on Wishing

I wish I were the poet
with the rhyme
that rippled round
the world.

I wish I were the pianist
with the blues; the tunes
that fingers played to
sooth
the savage in me.

I wish I were the girl
I used to be,
to metamorphose (oh, to fly!)
beautifully.

I wish the world were
round (whoops, it IS),
with roundness all around.

I wish the people on it
found the kindness
in a curve. Square holes
have corners that
trap , I know.

I wish wishes were
wishes which wishes
would wish. Wishes
should wish where wishes
were. Where were
wishes
when
I needed them?

Wishes are fairy tales
for fairies that
believe in
themselves.

Non believers
(like me) wish
they were
dead. They get
in the way of living,
and doing,
and loving,
and being.

Wrote this as a response to the writing challenge on the Daily Post. And why not???

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