There was an empty seat right next to mine On the plane home, and all throughout the flight I wondered: was it random? Or a sign? And if a sign, of something wrong or right? Was it there to tell me I am alone And always will be, wherever I go? A waiting nest? Or some bird that had flown? Just what I need? Or what I’ll never know? I think it was a test of character-- This world’s the echo of an inner voice That whispers what we secretly prefer: To hope or blame, to sulk or else rejoice. For what we choose, we will see everywhere: The empty hollow, or the waiting chair.
Copyright 2011 Matthew J Wells