The older I grow <br />the more I know <br />that I don’t know. <br /> <br />I have always been careful of saying <br />that I know how somebody feels <br />but I have always felt that I do – <br />but how can I be so arrogant <br />as to think I can creep <br />into the mind and heart <br />of a lifetime of living <br />of another being, <br />no matter who? <br /> <br />I am forever thinking and saying <br />that I understand animals <br />far more than I understand people <br />so how dare I have the right <br />to think that I know how a person <br />feels <br />or <br />doesn’t at all? <br /> <br />I have always been <br />so ready with well-intentioned advice <br />when I thought it was sought <br />and it is so difficult to hold back <br />when one was born with a blackboard behind <br />and books and eager faces in front. <br /> <br />So, I hereby confess <br />that I don’t know nor understand the woes behind <br />that carefully orchestrated smile, <br />that turned back, <br />that stark stare, <br />and that there are so many heartaches of others <br />that I simply <br />am powerless <br />to fix. <br /> <br />How much I have lost <br />thinking I know <br />what I <br />never <br />will. <br /> <br />(1 June 2013)<br /><br />Diana van den Berg<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/confession-107/
