there may be
eighty seven
ragged souls
in this loud room
how many
known?
Not even one
not even
completely
Look at
their faces
caught
unawares
at rest
hopeful or
weary
peaceful or
pain-full
it’s in the
eyes,
gleams like
fire caught flickering
rosy dawn
shimmering
wild storm
flashes
high-tossing
waves.
Can I dare
to look and see?
go outside
the limp shape
that is my
own soul and try
to see the
shape of another?
I will never
know
any but the
crease of my own
inward
thoughts
(and I
wonder)
I am poorer for it.
As near as
you are
ever you are
alien from me.
~ j.l.s
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