Hear me. . .

When last we spoke,
I let your view
into my skull–

it sank my hopes
deep in my heart
and left a big, dark
empty hole,

and now I see
you don’t remember me at all–

I was just
a number
on the wall. . .

though you
played the role
of friend
with utter skill–

and thus, chilled
but also seared me–

that made me feel
so deeply low,

it shook me from
my footing,
which, by then,
had begun
to slip from grip
on Earth whose crumb
had crumbled off
a bit,

and made me feel
perhaps it’s safer just to sit,
where no one hears
or sees me. . .

but that would not
for what I want
be fit,
and really wouldn’t please me. . .

Why is it
so hard to see me?

I learned well
to make myself
either perfect
or invisible,
and neither way
allowed your gaze
to have its sway,
nor the fictions
of your visions
of who
I was supposed to be
to ever see
the light of day. . .

After the roll
of many years,
well, you are gone,
but one cold stare
from some random
can set me reeling
in arrears. . .

but, luckily,
I’ve acquired
some inner wherewithal
and outer wares,
which, deftly plied,
can make me see
that the likes of
nor he
nor she
not hearing
and not seeing me
is no reason I should
from Life flee,

for there’s just
a tiny chance
that I’ll yet
pleasure in this vital dance,
and, in so doing,
lead a few others
by the hand,

so that the circle
of seen-and-heard-and-hand-held-people,
sporting smiles,
evermore expands–

from shore to shore,
from land to land.

This entry was posted in Poetic Musing (Longer Poems), Poetry and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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