Poem: This Is A Different Poem Than The One I Started Out Writing

This Is A Different Poem Than The One I Started Out Writing

There was much in common
and I did not expect it,
did not plan to find
those things waiting,
but they were there
and I am glad, really,
or, not quite glad...
That seems, I would say, small?
Trite.  I do not know
what the right word is
to explain why
it is the wrong word,
but there must be better ones.
I could think of them,
but now I have been distracted
by thinking on it too long
and writing all my thoughts
about why it is wrong
and I don't recall
what the write idea was.
It was about resonance
and the connection I felt,
the shared commonalities.
Glad works, I suppose,
but it is not enough, also.
I was not glad, or was more than glad?
I do not know why
I am still writing that.
It has taken over, has become
a center to itself.  I fell, again,
towards obsession, towards
obsessing over details
that exist on the edges
and are not the meat of the matter.
I don't have a cure
other than accepting
it is not a disease.

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