Lost
These words are spoken with passion
Not these, but those
Words spoken among friends, words of attempted substance
And still, the message is lost
The passion is there, hiding, teasing
Ducking and weaving as a boxer would do
Trying to explain what I'm saying to you
I, am lost
When does the humour run its course?
When do clowns remove their paint?
Do they dare? Do I dare?
A mockery
A pallid attempt at substance
These words, THESE words, are a message
A weak apology
A hope of understanding, a semblance of personal soul
A message wanting to be found
Kept in the dark.
Copyright © Toby James | Year Posted 2015
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