What is it we miss

What is it we miss

When we are not looking?

Do we fear life will go on without us.

Or without us

The darkness will lay waste

To the world.

Even sleep is a distraction

From the real business of life.

Taking part

Means never missing an opportunity.

Participation is more than

A game of two halves.

It is a sphere of influence,

A world ordered

Around our own centrality.

It starts very early.

Too early for some,

As tired children

Refuse to go off to bed,

Ask to have another story read.

Pretend to sleep

When you ask them not to make a peep,

And then sure enough,

Down the stairs they creep.

If you ask them why,

They start to cry

Say they want to be with adults.

And complain about their sister

Or brother,

Who are both a little older

And stay up later...

‘...so why can they...and not me...?’

And yet when they do

Finally fall asleep,

They look so sweet

It can melt your heart.

Every night you sigh,

As beneath heavy lids,

Their curious eyes

Flicker up and down,

From side to side,

And at long last,

They dream in peace and innocence.

But what is it they fight against,

With such clarity?

Is it a mysterious early years wisdom

That simply means

They are not so easily fooled

By the order of things.

Do they worry everyone will

Disappear in the night.

Are they afraid that what they miss

Will change their lives

And they will be unable to stop it.

Is that what we all fear?

What a strange sight,

Even a fright,

When adult heads nod on the train

Or in an aeroplane

Then jerk straight back up again.

Furtive looks

As sticky fingers rub tired eyes,

Wakefulness seen as a prize

Just like it was as children.

Embarrassed smiles

And straightened ties.

Why do we fear what we cannot see?

When so much of life is hidden,

And all we see is a précis

Of a much bigger story.

We are more than just readers

But part of the general theme.

And even if we skip a few pages

Or read the same paragraph

Over and over again,

Make neither head,

Nor tail of the narrative structure,

For a while,

As we drift away

To the land of nod.

We do eventually get the gist,

And make it,

All the way to the very end.

Thank God.