Our Song

Credulous, demented rhetoric
Clasped Hand
Drowned Demeanor
I call upon you

Waiting
I dance to a song that We both know
It hurts to turn
It hurts, every twist & twirl

If I could only share the weight of my dance, …
If you could only…
I ask too much
I’m sorry; …

Weren’t Our Voices Raised?

A door swung open
A familiar figure
Silence
May I have this dance?

Clasped Hands
A Song
We both Love

Monachopsis

Draped in Liquid Laughter
Dawned with Pretentious Hope
fraught with silent Resolve
silent Resignation

I clamor; I wait
Pressed against the glass
against the glass of self-indignation
Watching people engage & Smile
on the other side of the window

It begins to rain
Dripping liquid, pretentious laughter
Crying, “Hope!”
Now, I realize that I am the One standing outside
The One, without an umbrella