on the road
Bluelighter
This poem was written for me by an old friend of mine....
She sits beside him, quiet, still, watching his curious despair spilling from his mouth in a succession of thoughts, a virage of innocents lost, of lives lived behind pale green eyes as his own slips away. She sits and waits with patient breaths, studying, questioning, knowing what they dont, and knowing alone. Still he performs, a thespian action out the norm with perfect complexity, his eys masking whatever is left showing of who's inside. A long and delicate show directed by a cold and souless boy, his audience a woman, the only one to see, beneath his costume flesh and scripted conversation. See him on the stage, know him as her, for what? She sits besides him still, resting her head and heart from the world around her, her own stage left empty in a hasty escape from an audience blind to the art in her simplicity. Know them both and know the truth.
She sits beside him, quiet, still, watching his curious despair spilling from his mouth in a succession of thoughts, a virage of innocents lost, of lives lived behind pale green eyes as his own slips away. She sits and waits with patient breaths, studying, questioning, knowing what they dont, and knowing alone. Still he performs, a thespian action out the norm with perfect complexity, his eys masking whatever is left showing of who's inside. A long and delicate show directed by a cold and souless boy, his audience a woman, the only one to see, beneath his costume flesh and scripted conversation. See him on the stage, know him as her, for what? She sits besides him still, resting her head and heart from the world around her, her own stage left empty in a hasty escape from an audience blind to the art in her simplicity. Know them both and know the truth.
