Transparent Realms & Other Thoughts: Poetry

There is laughter here,
In the subtle way
my feet slide
across the floor
 There is
a restlessness in me;
I know this much
is true
because sometimes
it is hard
To be here.
Let it be
as it is meant to me;
Let me become
who I am
And now the pain flares up,
An old wound masked by
A physical casing
How I long
for things unseen
Undone, unspent, unwrought
We’re all professionals here,
Locked in our roles of theater,
And if we took the masks all off,
We’d find that we’re the same

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