16 August 2008

sad divide

It’s a sad divide.


I don’t even recognize

The sound of my own voice.


I’m shifting in my seat,

Measuring time in tiny doses.


Sometimes the only reminder of myself,

Are my own small footsteps

Pacing quietly up the stairs.


Why how this way?


Even though knowing, like a child

I resist the answer:


We are not vigilante and so

We are surprised when,


Loving in a natural way,

Sadness slips in the back door.

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