by Richard Vince

Three floors up and behind
Three panes of glass, I can
See the world but am
Separate from it.

There are doors no one opens
That lead to empty rooms
Stale with still air.

All is inertia, and I can
Move nothing and wake no one,
Not even myself.

Do they wait for me?
I mean, do they really?

It seems a stretch to imagine
Them excited to hear from me,
Annoyed I took so long but
Pleased I got there at all.

I hope they know my
Intentions are genuine even though
There is always some excuse
Or none for inaction.

I can only say it so often
Before I stop believing it

She feels the same, but
Is she the only one, or
Are more of my friends
Suffering this adult indignity
With me but alone?

It became complicated when
Wanting the same thing
Ceased to be enough to
Overcome the tendency to silence.

Once I was brave, but
Now my voice hides in fear,
Audible to no one
But myself.


Posted on 08/05/2022
Copyright © 2024 Richard Vince

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