Vincent Oster

Vincent Oster Poems

The Best Poem Of Vincent Oster

Letter To Myself

You long for words
that I cannot say-

I don’t own these words
and I have given them before.

They were taken away,
by my own hand,
cruelly to each (of us.)

I will not give them again.
Utter them in darkness,
while I’m beguiled, forlorn, or amused.

I don’t know what certainty is-

Does it exist,
but as a squint from a distance,
as threads in fabric intertwine?

My heart betrays me often,
and my mind meddles
in my affairs.

I spend too much time calculating
where the next raindropp may fall,
studying ripples in a pond
during a heavy storm.

I cannot run between them.

Maybe I should accept:
There is rain.
There is life.
And there is shelter.

But I am not one to stay dry-
I will get wet.
Even drenched.
And there is no umbrella…

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