Poem by Richard Spisak from USA

Επιμέλεια: Εύα Πετροπούλου Λιανού

Unnamed @rwspisak


we do not know when

Our ticket is complete

Will we on bicycle

Or our feet

Is it cloudy or in the sun we run

Or whether to the hillside or by the sea we’ve won

The only matter that we find

At hand to mold

Is in what path

We find our gold refined

Is it in the bustling realm of commerce

That we find, or on the playing field that our  joy’s designed

In the world of hearth and home

Or are we at our best alone?

How do we face the little perils, do we heed the crows or perhaps the sparrows

Do we find time to explore

the millions gifts

Outside our door

Or relentless

haunt the stores in shifts

Or do we find in our books

The gifts.

Regardless where we cast our nets

Truly the great world will

Our passing travails forget

Whether tis blue socks or white wine

We’ll enjoy, whither we

on our journey will employ

Trust it ?

confound it?

to our final dock we’ll come

At the sound if?

That much is clear

But it’s

Up to us,

who and what it is


In our lives

hold dear.

Written 5/23/23 – TENNESSEE, USA

Richard Spisak
Information Sculptor