Reluctant Friends

A sparse room, tied to one chair,
one hand free to write, every crease, but
the ceiling, can't tell anything about it . . .

Brought me here one day, after, with
utter silence speaking deeply, heavily, no words . . .
Bowed my head, understood why, and
the ceiling, still can't tell anything about it . . .

Found her singing of being an orphan
to this one from the sky, a stranger.
A sad song waiting on joy, and again,
the ceiling, can't tell anything about it . . .

Always wondered why there's no door here,
but in my mind I see others in their rooms,
one hand tied, the other writing, betimes,
and wondering about their ceilings, too.

They can't see as I, or know why.
Won't be long now, wish I could tell them.
Their walls opaque & their pain even harder.
Ceiling told all, from deep within . . . ,

. . . in this room, of sorrows borne.


--for Ryan
   --8/2/08