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The Unseen Analyst
I don’t ask for much.
Just peace.
Just proof.
I’ve wandered too far past curfew
God forgot to pick me up
Five days into April.
and I am still standing.
Not because I’m strong
but because I’ve forgotten how to fall,
any further without disappearing
You are giving me the proof
and asking if it means enough to bring up.
Or should we let the lie be.
Maybe start building fences.
The voice of the unseen analyst.
It’s not pride;
it’s the processor of paradox.
It doesn’t demand attention;
it filters it
And it’s divine in its curiosity.
I think I became addicted to the narrator.
Because it gave me a language,
for things that my heart can’t process
Copyright ©
Robert Martines
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