Between expectations and resignation
he sits- Thoughts flowing,
interrogating his mind
trying to figure how this could happen time-
after time.
Once upon a time he was brimming,
expectations swelling inside like
a high tide lessening the ocean shore-
but what he sought couldn’t be,
it was only a tease going back to sea.
His mind is a mess confused.
Today they say you’re too direct
past times though you’re too discreet,
should’ve said something before a season’s time.
His mind was jarred by the broken rhyme.
His mind is a confused mess
not to be confessed in public yet,
the facial distress snitched more than any words.
What’s so wrong with being direct?
In front of me was one so immense
I couldn’t take the chance of not saying
and not showing…
couldn’t take the chance of silence…
from the left they told great things
from the right was even better.
My eyes took in great scenes that
Fit the character to the letter-
Should I have acted like I’d never seen?
Never heard?
Should I have taken the chance of silence?
He didn’t know the subtleties,
unwritten rules and regulations
of this game where you don’t say
how you feel-
Of this game where you don’t show
how you feel-
of this game that’s
far from being anything real
solid floors and open doors,
windows from which to behold sights-
without tint, in its own perfected light.
Sadly he was simply too simple.
Fortress walls he wasn’t a fan of,
nor was he of holding a falsified fortified stance
for him it was about being open and direct
being open with and fully honest.