Maybe,
For just this once,
The world isn’t
About you.
Maybe,
For just this once,
The rain isn’t
About water;
The earth
Not about
The existent,
But the extinct.
Maybe,
For just this once,
The books aren’t
About the stories;
The words
Not about
The imagined,
But the unimaginable.
Maybe,
For just this once,
The cages aren’t
About holding back;
The penalties
Not about
The revealed,
But the concealed.
Maybe,
For just this once,
The shame isn’t
About naked truths;
The frustration
Not about
The unsaid,
But its futility.
Maybe,
For just this once,
The shell isn’t
Intact.
– October 7th, 2015
© Sana Rose 2015
The casual reader will find this somewhat of a brilliantly wrought work that fuses incisiive insight with overtones of self-deprecation.
It surprises me how you get ‘it’ just right when you read it, Louis. Thank you. 🙂