Poetry

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This theme festers in the background
A pot that simmers on the stove
There I am once more
Alone, again
Craving that affection
More than that simple attention
True sight of me, returned admiration
I walk up and down the stairs in a fever
Another day comes and goes
I look up to the stars
Cloud covered
What is meant to be
What is in my choice at this point
When can I trade my boulder for a feather?
I look straight in her eyes and I see
Nothing fosters that passion
At the very least not
From me
When was it then
That the door became bolted
When I was the one who turned the key