What governs the soul

Could we tell what governs the soul
no two being alike?

Do the words that I stumble on
pave the way to any place you knew?

This page being blown in the wind
is picked up in the street

and read by someone
who doesn’t know me

but knows this feeling
what it means and where it leads

This person has fading memories
of loving someone new

then stumbling and not knowing
which way to go

The page is like an empty frame
It has neither views nor guides

The pencil scratches bluntly on
And our reader reads

then gazes down the street
to see some meaning coming

cycling along
in the form of someone familiar

So memories are cruel
It’s an acquaintance who reappears

like a cat at the door
seeking to know what’s new

Grant Duncan 24/12/04