fooler fooled

for every deception

there comes a moment

of unwillingness

a moment of unclarity

where whatever falseness

lays in wait to be discovered

there hides the revelation

that the fooler will become the fooled

that the convincer will become convinced

to put his contrivances aside

and believe in something

that would never make sense out loud.

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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.

the un-rebel

no kind words
await the ill-honoured
un-rebel.

no praise, or applause
or laurels are
deserved by he.

a lament, a tirade
a lengthy convoluted complaint
are better suited for
he who plays the role
of the nonchalant saint.

all his passiveness
filled in neatly
into whatever space
pride left
when it was
scooped out
and left to simmer
in indignity.

a doormat is he
yet the stomp-trampling feet
leave tainted and dirty.

an odd duck perhaps?
befuddled about which
pious path to choose?

no,
just callous
and quiet
and with
nothing to lose.