The Carousel
There is so much we never say or share. It spins inside like a long forgotten day at once fine fair.
I keep watching the carousel
waiting for a horse
any one of them
to jump off and
escape the madness
and the madder music
that has them lost.
None ever do.
But I still stand there, waiting.
I keep looking at my watch
hoping IT will stop.
I keep asking myself questions
I can’t answer.
I keep tapping my coffee spoon
hoping dreams will arrive
spun from a finer loom.
I walk the streets looking
into the eyes of each man
woman, child, dog, bird,
looking for a sign of life
looking for warmth, a faint glow
that someone, any thing,
is in the know.
There is so much
we don’t speak of
and that sits inside
festering like a wound
that won’t heal,
while we coodle a gun
late night, alone
in a car that ain’t going anywhere
just like those horses
at the now forgotten
closed down county fair.
Where I ask is the real?
Who among us is certain of what they feel?
Who is ready to leap off their
magic carpet of fate
and fly into time,
that no longer asks us to wait?