The wall is a wall.
Sometimes it traps me here
in a one wall room,
nothing up and nothing down,
only my toes touch the ground.
The door hides from me
and whispers “You have no love.”
No love to share,
blank wall stare.
Others find the door
from another stare,
and correct me,
my inner space,
a lonely face,
until I lose my place,
and fall through
the invisible floor.
Till I am no more.
© 2014 John Allen Richter
|If you can keep your head when all about you|
|Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;|
|If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,|
|But make allowance for their doubting too:|
|If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,|
|Or, being lied about, don’t deal in lies,|
|Or being hated don’t give way to hating,|
|And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;|