Distance.

Look down, wake up, nobody
there,
Missing pieces, stitches undone,
fell apart somewhere,

Faces, nothing, all the same, mind
is racing, self to blame,
Not a game, just memories, hopes,
and moments of shame,
Who's to blame?

Not the face in everything, those
eyes, that voice,
Not the mind, the sweet and
kind, but the choice... Left
behind,

Giddy still over a simple name,
whatever the text, its' all
the same,
Not to blame, and nothing to
shame,
Its' never a game,

Distant itching to stitch the
hole,
To move a little closer and
make it all whole,

Outstretched to air, no one
is there,
That face, that voice, doesn't
matter if its' fair,
Pain rooting in care,

Forever to roam, far away,
yearning, burning to go
home...
-END-
(C) D.C. Chapman
11/12/2012