My moments of clarity,
Only come
In whispers.
They are offered to me,
But, I don't take advantage.
I have looked into that "clarity box"
And seen my name,
With a little path,
All set out,
Sometimes I trip over it.
But, as soon as I try to question it,
Or perhaps unravel the packaging,
It disappears.

You are left to cope,
Just carry on,
For what purpose?
Other than to survive.
Surely not.

Just catching,
That little glint of wonder.
A few small snippets,
Land on the floor.
You look,
But you can't,
quite see,
What they mean.