Gentle Leaf

Someone once told me to write something a bit more cheerful. This is the abomination which came of that attempt. Some simply don't do cheerful.

Gentle leaf upon the tree,

Am I you or are you me?

I wish I could speak the things I see

But I no longer understand how.

I used to know my own first name

But that has been carried off

In the wind-driven rain.

I am not quite sure

But I think I am insane

Or is my madness only passing?

Maybe my insanity is not insanity at all

But just the obverse view of the mirror I see

Hanging there on the wall.

Am I in or am I out?

Is there really any difference.

I look deep into the silvered glass

To see if I can see me

But the person that glares back at me

Is not me, not me, I see

But someone else entirely;

Someone from my dim lit past

Who has followed me back on my memories' path

To taunt me here and now.

To remind me that I am not me.

I am not now and may never be.

So I ask you once again

My verdant, little friend:

Gentle leaf upon the tree,

Am I you or are you me?

I wish you could speak the things that you see.

I wish that you could tell me.

Hamish McIndlister

Copyright © 2010

Author's Note

Any hope of salvaging this mess?

Reviews

[Neva Flores Smith - Cha..]

Hamish, this is not a mess (your author's note) this poem is deep and to me speaks of the questioning of reality...excellent!