Impressions Poem by Sandra Feldman

Life,
A series of impressions,
Like the frames of a bad film,
Out of the control of the director,
Subject to all kinds of whim.

Us, We,
What do we do in the time we have?
Fly butterflies over flowers
That we think won't die?
Collect dreams that stream,
Like melancholic clouds in the sky?

Oh Love,
Where do we hide
From Life's uncertain tide?
Oh Love,
How will you taunt?
The simple lives you haunt,
Don't leave us to one side.

The Light,
Plays tricky games,
The objectives slip and slide,
Our hands tied,
Destiny,
And some miserable politician
Will decide.

Reality,
Does not exist,
We just get flashes, impressions,
Illusions, all is illusion,
Our frail lives are but a mist.

Oh Love,
Take our hand,
Guide us to your promised land,
We are so lost,
So alone....