We All Know But Don’t.

Peeping out of the cigarette stain

Ruminating its thoughtful discard

Habit wasn’t how he would define her

She was one of those infinitely long train journeys

His unfocused gaze morphing shapes in thin air

Ending up as her face

She could be anything he saw

Do you see how blind the situation is?

He could not.

Talk he could, till exhaustion

Searching the wonder which

Vanished as the start of a dream

Connections he felt, on surface

Depth was already taken

Carving the name on pages

Oddly satisfying his urges

There would be no books he would write

He won’t share her with the world

Do you see how beautiful the writing was?

He could not.

I saw him born and raised

So many moons he wasted

Devouring the words, no outlet

Brown pages to smell

Grey thoughts to paint

So he wrote her a thousand pages

He asked me kindly

“I don’t see her anywhere

You tell her, be the messenger

Tell her, I write to you”

How could I, silence is my gift

Reconcile when your dreams shift

I be the messenger?

I could not.