it is not negativity:
i know that no one dreams of me.

the world is full of every kind:
the sighted, and the poor, benighted blind.
the rich, the poor, the brave, the faint-at-heart —
we’re similar in that we’re each apart.

it is our shared distress:
that fortune favors all of us in different ways, i guess.

and i’ve been given much that, rightly, i should be quite grateful for:
but find, and oftentimes, that i want more.

and so it is for many more: we each want to be everything —
the politician longs to sing.
the movie stars have dreams, like you or me,
that all of us would view them differently.

so here i am: i’m not a handsome man.
i am not young: i’m sure that i’m past half of my life’s span.
and words seem to mean little on this head:
and while i do know love, i know when younger passion’s dead.

i do not seek for pity, it would be most undeserved:
for i have not been wrongly served.

it is not negativity:
i know that no one dreams, nor ever has, of me

(“His Thoughts, Recast”, 5-20-2015)