The Humble Rock Dove

The ambition is “create”,
The goal, to be awake,
To awaken life and buzz,
Wouldn’t that be great?
An open forum? No?
Great.

Yet hidden gems are still the staple
Hidden, hiding, out of view,
I see them!

And they pass, the dross falls down,
And the scroll rolls on,
And nothing with their lights on,
Frowns out the window.

Little green “go” lights,
But nothing.

Old, old portraits,
Gathering dust in the pallid fluorescence.
Nothing.
Butterflies caught in the essence of fluoride.
Haunting.

My friend’s a cynic.
She’s got awful, correct views;
She watches the news.

Silence:
A whip of steel wire,
Barbed, and now I bleed,
For you.

Someone’s forcing it, in the next room.
Someone’s too popular, for their own good!
Some poor fool escaped the climate, and,
Is getting lavished, down below!

Peace in this land is the dried-up park.
The kind of place untravelled after dark.
By most who host the depression parties,
Behind the blinds of windows split apart.
We see your walls,
We see your dark,
Its in,
Side of your heart.

In plain view.
I can see you.