wb :

They condescend to me, arrogant glares never meeting my eyes,
Glancing at the wares decorating tables, and they do not come
To buy any but whisper behind, relieving not my solitude
Hopeful, but still in an infinite wait
Waiting for shadows of those already past
And unmoving, the fading colours marking the story's end.

But ever so often, the young ones come
Budding bourgeosie smiles that disperse, somewhat, the solitude
Stemming from a fruitless knowing in a fruitless wait
The colour, laughter, fleeting moments go past
The monotony returns, perhaps never to end
And they know this, they do, it is reflected in our eyes

To sit day after day in a multicoloured solitude
A solemn stone in the crowd in a vauntless wait
Reminiscient, still living, forlorn images harvested from the past
And when the neon lights spark the sky, their dances end
So will mine, dancing and dying for the strobes that light my eyes
Glistening dully, like dead milk fish, a day that does not come

Preserved fruit, I am a window shopper, sitting down to my daily wait
Watching candy-coloured people walk past
Vibrant in their sugar-spun castles, meeting a dull, dull end
I know this, yet I devour, envy in my eyes
For mine is gone, behind the requiem that will always come
To sing upon a statue, the colours of my wares to theirs, impress upon this solitude

And yet again where and what past
Past present future tense it is all the same for the purgatory without end
In rainbows that fade to red, sun streaking eyelids and covered eyes
No relief, like Lazarus alive, it does not come
Upon a table, reclining in solitude
A statuette, never statuesque, in a never-ending wait

Who would bid me goodbye if this story should end
Walking past unnoticed, if I should no longer open my eyes
Would they break away, to reach and come from
Whence, to undo the shackles of a distant solitude
Wrenching free the years of rough plastic, this wait
Wholly new, leaving me a fragment, facets left of a long bygone past

No longer will I wait for those who do not come
Never again closing my eyes to leave me blind
To the end and beginnings I created of a past that is left behind.


Cheers!
-Bern

I wrote this two years ago, as part of my mentorship portfolio. It's about a pedlar, in Orchard, selling her wares but never buying them for herself.

Labels: poetry