solemn busker

Solemn busker
Will you ever be nearer to me
Than you are with your wistful violin?
How else could you ever dare?
How else could I ever bare?
How else could this be?
Do not act as if it is only I who deceive.
It is only music after all
Played better by hands less grimely-worn than yours
Yet to rest a finger upon the violin’s rest….
Am I as agitating as the poverty that demeans you before me?
Do you ever hope that the thrown coins
fall from a closely distance?
that my smile is not only for your tune?
I know you play “Ave Maria”
Only for me
Though badly
Do you ever escape into an imagined embrace
Of course you would
For I should never admit
That I do.

i know.

i know that look!
i know every word that is unspoken,
that lies within that look.
[why do so many share the same?]
that little jump, that little crinkled brow,
the little voice that inside echoes: ‘why are you this way?’

i know those words!

i see every word before it is spoken,
it lies within your mind
and spills forth from confidence assured,
[why do so many share the same?]
that little quirky smile, that little tingling fear,
the casual-sounding voice stammers: “you’re not like the others”

i know that very thought!
i hear it before it is even formed,
it lies within your questioning soul
and struggles to come forth,
[why do so many share the same?]
that little contemplation, that little preoccupation,
the little wonder that catches you by surprise: “why do you not belong?”

yes but none ever voice nor think nor see…
that i cannot help,
but be me.