Neither is the Same

Here I sit once more-
playing mind games with my pen.
Confusion is choking me;
What will be,
what should be,
what I want to be -
Neither is the same.

My hand hurts as I write.
My heart achs as I dream,
and the ink,
now my enemy,
refuses to soothe the wombs.
Refuses to comply.
Immobilized with fear,
as I try to avoid the truth.

Phone call;
Your voice so sweet.
I feel your love,
I see your smile.
But I also see
the morbid grin
of Reality,
as he watches over my shoulder.
I must hang up
before we hear the truth.

Back to my pen...
frantic scratching.
Running
Running
down the page.
I know I'm losing ground.
I know there is an end approaching -
the end of blindness.
The end of deception.
The end of fantasy,
of hope...

My pen falls.
Tears fill my eyes.
What will be,
what should be,
what I want to be...
Why is neither the same?


© Barry Wayne Veinotte