ambiguity between the keys of black&white

What do I write?

What do I write?

The written word so often calls to me within the darkest hours of silver nights

Photo by Anne Nygård on Unsplash

Scattered as the stars

my heart withers alongside the subtle breeze of change and patience

What do I wait for?

What do I wait for?

The most gentle and deepest of piano keys

so often forces out my truths, exposing my anguish to the subtle chill of September

So often, that it’s become a newly dream of mine to sit myself before a live symphony

when I find myself amidst utter vulnerability

I can see myself now:

as I allow my eyes to fall heavy alongside each key of black and white,

reaching out with the most gentle gesture

only to wrench my heart thereafter

I’ve become familiar with encountering this very act —

I so often find myself amidst a theatre

alone —

whether others surround or not, it never mattered,

For those who surround, only came for the show

And when the lights find the courage to resurrect

I’ll find myself amidst a theatre

surrounded by plastic figures

that, too often, resemble humanity in the dim of silhouettes and shadows

I am left, alight, amidst bewilderment and longing

What do I write?

What do I wait for?

and above all,

Can anyone hear me?