Pause

A Poem by Styxian

A reply...

Is a photograph a postcard
when it's far away.
When it's on a rack
with so many several others,
clinging to their metal frames
- an open cage, wary
of strange takers.

It's just a glossy, you sigh
behind a painted face.
Read the words
on the other side
-I made it easy, you claim.

Yet readers get lost on the eyes
and wait for the lips to give away...
But shy;your pages guard your heart
as if a student, in an age
where everyone thinks
that they can read lips
and grasp meanings,
and vow to save us
as if we're just orphans
with crayons.

Give the crows the crust,
pause and tell yourself
"That isn't me".
Give your eyes to a jeweler,
and let him read.