I wish I were (what I am): A poem 

I wish I were the receptacle of love 

That fit my hand perfectly like a glove 

That a revelation would perch like a dove 

in my heart, like tongues of fire from above 

I wish my empty notes were inlaid with inspiration 

Lighting up skies, rousing up entire nations 

That my wishes would sprout like spring’s seeds 

Adversity cleanly raked out like farm weeds 

I wish I were a bestseller, not an obscure book 

Off the shelf that my large following took 

An opera of laughter for my weeping willow 

An aurora of lights at my nightly window 

Can only be what my mediocrity resembles, to my horror 

The flawed reflection that humbles me in the mirror 

But I’ll still remind myself of the little shine in me 

That the roots still grow deep of the peripheral tree