Strategies of Self Reflection

I watched the interaction between our meager, young romantic and the masked man,

Forcing my hand perhaps,

Having placed a string upon their backs.

Painted upon them golden slacks

Reminding each of what they lack.

 

And yet, I turn around

Head in ground

Never to be found

Let me in the sound

 

Six feet under

Oh, what a blunder

A constant wonder

Of the soft rolls of thunder

 

Roam the flowered meadows,

A sea of yellow

The crisp pluck of a cello

A man oh so mellow

 

He sits in wait

At the wiry gate

A question of fate

Was he too late?

 

Peter, peter pumpkin eater

A long day at the theatre

So one said, a born leader

His life blood, his keeper

 

Hands placed on the bar

Scalding the skin, leaves a scar

Not quite as far

As the farthest star

 

Lost in the sky,

Dare to ask why?

Won’t he just lie?

Another soul to buy.

 

I sit on my thrown

Ignoring the moans

And broken bones

Seemingly unknown

 

 

Am I blind?

To the daily grind

An erased mind

 One who is supposedly kind.

 

Had I done wrong?

Sang a different song?

Kept it for too long?

Had I lead you along?

 

But you were never mine.

A night chalked up to wine

That had grown from the vine

Leaving you divine

 

And I?

I am left here standing.

Standing all alone.