Out Of Reach Poem by D.W. Good

I saw that most of my days were spent looking back

And when this truth became me too many nights had gone.

All over my skin are barbs sticking from the limbs of wasted time.

When do I see the secret of the thing that keeps me up and brings me down?


If it was to others clear the future than to me it has been black

And while others plan for the next day I hope for the dawn.

All along the road I ride stand the signs of my wasted time

As I move toward the secret which keeps me up and brings me down.


No one thing can happen to bring an end to the lack

That appears on cue when this life shows that I have not yet moved on.

Still no awards bestowed as upon me sits a great yoke of wasted time

As I drudge towards the dim secret of the thing which keeps me up and brings me down.


The crowds, the patrons and the vagrants be as placements from premeditated plan

And the bird sings and the dog barks and the faucet leaks, all as though on time,

The able do and the unable see and I walk crippled it seems as I struggle to be near

The thing which sprints two lengths ahead at all times, its secret its yoke and slowing it not


But I have one goal alone and the thing and I both know

That time and secrets allow or fade away until one is lost or the other is found.