Without Myself

I gaze through the window, behind misty veils, to all without myself.

Seeking an enduring happiness beyond frigid gales and beyond oneself.

The world is cold and distant, and all color is washed out and muted.

I strain my eyes to discern details for which my eyes are not suited.

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Witnessing this misty scene, seeing no hint of anything that changed.

I hang my head in quiet despair, and from all without I am estranged.

No longer will I deny my window view of a world so cold and so palid.

A world veiled in a layer of hoar frost and ice so deep and so solid.

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I remembered an encounter with a wise man whose advice I had misread.

He said, to find happiness, "Roll your eyes to the back of your head."

For too long I have wandered listless along the periphery of oneself.

I shut the window, look inward, making peace with all without myself.

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