What is the word for when people glance as they pass
see it empty and give a sigh?
His dark hair reaches the tailored shoulders of his blue blazer
left stylishly open over a crisp white shirt
standing amongst the crowd in a corner, you can tell he’s bored
his long limbs straight and his head held high,
there are stories hidden in the pupils of his eyes,
stories of war, of death, of trauma and love that have been passed down.
A vacuum of desire that cannot easily be filled,
burns inside his chest as outside the sky is caressed by rain
to others a stranger, to me an embodiment of art
I wonder what fresh burden he harbors inside his heart?
The dance floor is a map of yesteryear’s defeats and triumphs,
and God watches on as we reveal our cards
craving the scent of his showered skin, I sway along with other dancers,
hiding behind masks of emotional armour.
Photo credits: Pinterest
Posted on Weekend Mini-Challenge @ Real Toads
Also posting on Poetry Pantry @ Poets United