In a heavily laced facade, our feet tread precariously
What is real is no longer clear, what is true is no longer known
But the truth is not what you know. It’s what you believe.
What do I believe? What do you believe?
Silent conversations fill the smoky air
So much unsaid but neither can release their tongue
Through another’s writings, I have flashbacks to what used to be
Quietly, in my own hole of solitude, I read those words
And smile gently to know, that is no longer what is to be
If you should read this, know that I read your words
But I do not lie awake at night, wishing for a memory years old
As you claim to do
In a wave of honesty, I see what it is I dream of at night
Lying inches from me, breathing softly
Stare at the ceiling, a glowing galaxy within arm’s length
Feel the warmth of something so certain and yet so uncertain
Sigh as another night should pass beneath my aching shoulders
There isn’t much to say here in this piece. I really have nothing of value to give to the world. Not today. Braindead, wondering just where my life is going to take me. A sense of direction is definitely lacking in these travels. Travels. Not travels as I sit at a desk, day by day, staring at the same computer screen. Filling my need for conversation with meaningless chatter. Empty words spin through the doorways and twirl around my head. One day, there will be more. One day, I won’t sit in this chair at this desk typing at this computer. One day, my bare feet will traipse fields of grass in a land I have dreamt of for years. I simply have to be patient.