This isn’t the time to look at him
Outstretched arms, more limp than taut,
absorb the overwhelming applause
of strangers
Sweat beads glisten
under the new lights;
you knew they would
It is easy to find him;
he is looking at you;
that’s the trick
Hold steady now;
It’s almost over;
Does it feel good?
Remember how you once were
the ice cream vendor
on a hot summer day?
A smile…
And then your sunken eyes
reflect the truth
the way the sea recedes
and reveals empty shells.
Aren’t you a shell?
A hardened hollow structure
of vestiges from an ambitious past,
crudely assembled by unsure hands.
The years have caught up with you
and left much behind,
littering your memories
at each familiar turn.
In the beginning
Mere sustenance was an afterthought
Beside that river and under that sky
Each day we conquered all
The tides responded to his words
The clouds to the whims of his breath
The pace of his outstretched arm measured
The ascent of the sun and the moon
I – affecting nothing and no one
A reluctant bearer of truth
Just sat and heard him speak
Fearful of his touch
How well he could see the stars
But didn’t account for their delayed sparkle
Not fully realized
Within the hours I sleep
I carry them along
I dine with them
I drink to them
When alone
I speak of them
At times more about one than another
At times never about one
But I carry that along too
Whims and urges demand that
Not even fully realized
Within this space
I leave them for sleep
And the next day
A cramped office space
Papers stacked unevenly
And high
The faces
Of engrossed men
Hidden behind
A man
Not hidden
Hiding
Observes all but them
Through the window
By his right
A True Sentence 