Extended hands reach out to find the air waiting near.
These fingertips are piercing through nothingness with a face;
thought I felt a calming pulse mirroring my pace.
But it’s been said that I say too much about faulty machinery—
Gears turning becoming caught on memories reversing.
It can all reset when I pretend the smile is back.
Signals ring far to search for a voice’s calm blanket,
having been sparked by desire to discover the comfort assured.
Found a complacent companion was what you preferred.
But it’s been said I place value unfairly in these perspectives
where hope is bet on a gesture meaning more than appearances.
It can all be discarded come the moment thereafter.
Noticed the expanding length of the steps needed between,
with days diminishing in the interlude of refusing speech;
considered it a lesson only distance could teach.
But it’s been said I expect too much when giving too much,
feeling skin and soul sink in creases I never perceived prior.
It can enjoy ignorance when I claim there’s nothing there.
And it’s been said in seconds present and the seconds passing
there was only a husk in place since the beginning,
Bouncing along cobblestone lanes, bearing no weight,
managing invisibility in clear view with a gasping throat,
words blocking all notes, cutting protest and forcing rest,
having no will to utter a sound—only fear of the consequence.
The only true thing is the only thing never said,
left to hang in the air like smog filling my lungs.
I could only ever come alive with glasses held high,
appearing in those eyes like having been dead otherwise.
One moon killed by the sun and the crowd moves on;
a new morning to signify that ghost of a friend was gone.
When the choking grows too loud—smoke billowing out,
the shoulders promised turned tail and fled.
I called it a sign and brought it inside of myself,
and through all I believed it was for this I had bled:
For faults out there transformed into faults of my own;
blame for the seconds existing out of frame.
I can pick up, rebuild, and expect no more.
Discard resets, returns, and the notions of either.
Ignorance has no more words to spend.
I’m present—not passing.
Extended hands reach out.
Only the air is waiting near.
It’s not a surprise anymore.
( ❤ Mitch)
Have a happy, safe New Year’s.