Lack² by J.T.A. Reddy

If causes lost and pulverised requests 

will fall on ears unused; I ask, am I?

Too quick to query, too slow to write -

too late to call the curtain on the night

too eager minded, droll to fight my case,

too human for the human race, 

seldom stubborn beasts to call the burden

too beautiful. Too foul to smile

towards my sun a glimpse – too proud to give

your moon my whitest grin, in case

reflective light obtains a mind its own. 

My garden dreams mine own, may be, 

too tall the flowers grow - my sun goes cold. 

Too often upon the ploughed field

to be a pruner, when root and stem I know 

will feed upon this fleshen vessel, too. 

I am too tall to see the web below -

Too cobbled, but I see the spider dance

And as it dances, pray.

Too quick to last, too slow to feel my thirst,

I grow towards the ground, because too sure 

am I the roots I’ve grown, and too 

alike my kin beside the garden, 

our cacophonic choir, 

I, too, consist of starfire.