We like to think of ourselves
as uncommon.
It's sad to believe
we're one of the great
unwashed;
just part of the milling herd,
a small speck
in that fuzzy fly by
twixt LA and New York.

It's more pleasant
to think of ourselves
as cream,
rising to the top,
an ascending star
in life's sky of dark!
But unsettling currents
of reality,
drown those pleasing
self-delusions,
as we awaken
in our work-a-day world.

We look about
seeing the accomplished
basking in the glow
of adoring adherents,
as they smile down indulgently
at happy faces,
applauding their well deserved
accolades;
even as we see ourselves
floundering about
in vacuous mediocrity,
within our work worn world.

Oh, we quietly acknowledge
the modest results
of our personal endeavors
in life's lottery,
and count bitter regrets
notched on our bedposts,
the baleful reminders
of pregnant moments,
lying still born
in days gone by.

Then we fall into dreaming
of the last, best chance,
of experiencing the warm glow,
of those happy, adoring faces
that have passed us by;
and may resort
to excuses, accusations, and
whimsical alibis,
to answer that uncomfortable
question,
why?

To me it's not the ends,
it's the means;
the all-important in between,
the conception,
and the completed thing.

It's impressions left,
and the internalized lessons,
gleaned,
in our own unique reality.