(March 7th,1941 / Chichester, West Sussex, England)


There is always a doubt
Never quite visible

Like a coin thrown in
A muddy puddle

Rings of uncertainty
Extending beyond

One’s self

Where nervous hands
Falter and grope

Into nothingness
Where eyes blur

Trying to focus
On what is unsure

Am I the coin
Or the puddle?

(Senneville,1998) .

by Philippa Lane

Other poems of LANE (45)

Comments (2)

I like this poem and the image you found for the uncertainty about those regions of our self which we cannot grasp, where we feel in muddy waters indeed.
I think the last line is very good, focuses the previous descriptions, which are also quite evocative.