The Edges of Things

Look again.

It is not the tree you want to see.

It is the edges of its leaves you desire;

the clean, clear sharpness of life,

the unbroken final line that surrounds us,

the perfect, outer edges of truth.

Our eyes are lies.

We cannot see what is in front of us.

It is only the outlines of our lives that are true.

It is there we find meaning,

that which defines what we hold inside.

There is no room for error on the edges.

©Charles Ghigna


  1. Beautiful! I particularly love the first stanza, and the edges of the leaves.

  2. You are so right! It is the edges of the leaves lit with light that I really want. Thank you for sharing this lovely poem!

  3. This is wonderful! And it's those moments of clarity I crave, which seem perfectly defined (ha) by the edges of things. Love that last line especially.