Death In Walking Pose

Hidden stories try to tell themselves By shadow play behind thin curtains. We chose to see or to look away Either way they will try to speak to us. I cannot bear to remain like this; Voiceless and without another heart to bear witness Nor comfort the trembling heaves of a pitiful soul. I am the distance between one pole and the other; I am the space between our lips, the air that we forget to breath. Life here is full of vacancy and unkempt homes. Still smoke lingers in this space we call our own, Never changing the draft or the force of the flow. We are like death in walking pose A mirage of living souls.