by Glen Martin Fitch
Each night in dreams
I face a knight or snake.
I seek a maiden, fair
or hermit, kind.
I fly or fall or flee
before I wake.
It's said each is
an aspect of my mind.
My boss is not my shadow,
not my dad.
To see him so
is just a mental fraud.
I've seen myself
within the grocery lad.
Like me,
they're foolish,
fallible and flawed.
I thought I loved you.
Yours for me seemed real.
But was it more about
my loving you?
I grieve,
but is it still your loss I feel
or is my grieving
all about me too?
“How can I know another?"
I complain.
“The Devil's Pitchfork's
twisting in my brain."
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ABOUT THE POET ~
Glen Fitch is a 16th Century poet lost in the 21st Century. Born near Niagara Falls, educated in the Catskills, thirty years on the Monterey Bay he now lives in Palm Springs. Retail not academics has paid the bills. Someday he will finish Spenser's "The Fairie Queene."
Last updated August 24, 2011