Perhaps

Most of my poems are amateurish and cliche, and I'm tired of using the same style over and over again. This one was already done, though, so I'll publish it.

Perhaps I've had an impact

on a great deal of lives;

maybe good memories of me

are kept in heart-archives.

It doesn't feel that way, though,

and although it may be true,

seeing from that perspective

is not something I do.

I wish that I could see it,

and I wish that it made sense,

because it seems romantic,

empowering, and intense.

I do not see it, though,

and there's no good way to measure

if the moments I've disregarded

were someone else's treasure.

It's easy to imagine that

all the waves that I create

propel only me alone

and then forever dissipate.

I've been so self-absorbed

as I've done my navigating,

while I used the sails as bandages

and the oars for isolating.

What a marvelous image

that I can paint with my mind

of all the little bits of worth

that I may have left behind.

Perhaps it will be different

as I ready and raise the sails,

and live life with an outward gaze

and notice the details.