Tales We Tell Ourselves
By
John I. Blair
We live and die
By tales we tell ourselves,
Building our days on little lies,
Weaving our personalities
From rags and sticks
We find along the way.
At birth our slate stands clear;
Then year by year
We fill it up with scrawls,
Scribbles, crudely drawn
Mental landscapes, spates
Of stuff we don't even
Understand. And grand
Schemes we've only halfway
Planned. Small wonder
By the time we reach the end,
Most of us have no fix
On what we had in mind
When we began.
©2003 John I. Blair
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