Poem: Gazing

 

Gazing

 

he was as tired as the almost-lost.

others said it too.  but it was hard

to tell the suicidal from the whiners.

 

what was the point of talk, anyway?

to dampen the thrill and wonder?

to prove that everyone was small?

 

his sensitive voice leaned swift,

carried on unauthorized wings,

to swerve past the i’m-fine-and-you,

 

a flight scorned by the bell curves,

those judgemental poles

lodged solid in a social swamp.

 

the reptile of that ruck,

it was hungry and stubborn,

 enough to start unwinnable wars.

 

people were far better, higher, 

if you could find them alone, 

gazing at the crystal balls in their tears.

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8/28/25  mods

1/28/24 ... mods

1/1/24 "Reptile" replaces "reptile"

11/16  ... "scorned" replaces "labeled" ... fixed typo ...