Ordinary Person

We’re just ordinary people 

with our little dreams and  

aspirations, broken and conflicted,  

trying to make sense of 

what we’ve left behind and  

venturing into unforeseen  

circumstances,  

little spherules of light,  

flitting about in dusty places,  

unfixed, floating towards 

tragedy or fulfillment,  

and it doesn’t matter if 

we move of our own accord 

or if providence presets our trajectories,  

if moving from X to Y to A  

will happen irrespective of 

whether we’re glimmering  

or ablaze. 

We carry our hurt,  

hoping some miracle of mercy  

or flip of the coin will assuage it. 

The soft cadence of the twilight  

falls like murmuring purple waters 

on the cobblestones, but we hardly  

look, the oaks grow pallid  

and wither, stretching their limbs 

to infect and corrupt  

and we hide in the shadows. 

We’re defined by pain, 

we’re put together by persistence,  

and connected in this massive  

web of survival, threads of 

unique hues and fabrics making  

a whole. We’ll never see as one 

and misery waits with his  

rake to gather us up for the  

fire, but while we’re here,  

let’s remember that we’re ordinary  

people, going about our lives,  

which, though inundated with

ennui and melancholy

possess enough beauty  

in their sheer wealth of experience. 

Photo by nokting xie on Unsplash