-- What Do I Own --

John Herlihy

What do I own but good intentions and free will,

The rest but a panacea of promises that linger still.

We think we know ourselves and have absolute right,

When we hardly come to terms with our daily plight.

We know nothing of who we are, our rightful identity;

We think we have the rights to ensure our serenity.

Do I own the time of day, the seasons, the weather?

Can the bird manage to fly with only a single feather?

Our security but a fragile mirror just waiting to shatter;

Our certainty a dark cavern with questions that matter.

Do we think to own the mystery that keeps us guessing?

Do we really control the dreams that come as blessing?

I have a unique talent, I cry to myself, isn’t that my own?

Who knows how destiny itself into the fabric of life sewn?

Writers, poets, dancers, musicians all begin to wonder,

Where inspiration comes from, from whence its thunder.

Even our expressions of love we cannot claim as truly ours;

The emotion has a life of its own with its special powers.

I give myself to the loved one, the loved one gives to me;

The love itself but a clear mystery that enjoys its own key.

What of the blissful future that is so tantalizingly close?

What of the miseries and sorrows to make us feel morose?

Come to think of it, there is very little we claim as our own,

Our innocence and virtue perhaps, the rest as birds flown.

Think about it for a minute: Does the squirrel own the nut?

Does the knife own the edge when it comes to the right cut?

We think we own a thing only to see it slip thru our fingers;

Then we learn how missing things is a sorrow that lingers.

Even our bodies are not our own, growing pains to meet;

The mind a house of confusion whose host we never greet.

If you think to own something, then remember tomorrow;

If and when the day may arrive, the world itself on borrow.

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(c) John Herlihy 21 September 2019