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,

 

scorned by the bell curves in its flight,

those judgemental poles

lodged stolid in a social swamp.

 

and 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 ball

 

inside their tears.

===================================================

1/28/24 ... mods

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

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