I stretch until I almost break;
Then I draw back, again.
Gathering once more, it seems
The will to go on, to seek.
The agony of the repetition,
Reliving, reviewing, rethinking,
Must be of some worth;
Must result in some gain.
Those gains so intangible
As to be mostly unrecognizable
But for the trust and faith
That I am not alone.
Alone, yes, it seems the key,
For without my solitude
I grow so little; and yet…
Alone is just that, alone.
Growing to fill the space
In which I live and die.
Simple death of the old while
So hard to replace what is gone.
A task done and redone.
A lesson learned and relearned.
Birth, growth, death, rebirth
Into some new reality.
The new worlds build upon the old;
The new self a reworking of me.
Shedding and expanding until
The limits are reached once again.
What now? How to shed
The old limits and truly find
The self I know I am?
The one who watches and knows.
That one knows the connections
That are in place for us all.
A personal thing that we all share,
That reaching out and holding another.
Holding and being held
Like a mother and child,
A loved one and the lover;
Lost forever it seems.
The spirit reaches and connects
The body left behind.
Yet the constant companion
Is that physical reality.
Stumbling, falling, sometimes rising
But needing more than what is found.
Searching, seeking, reaching, grabbing,
Only to look at empty hands.
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