poets meeting

you, reeking of some smoke 
I am too naive to be able to identify
when you say you write poetry
I know I can't ignore you anymore
and it grates wrong when we all sit silent
and you go back to the door
I'm relieved when someone has a gift card for food
and you are persuaded to take it
you scrawl on the booklet of poetry
before you hand it over
and then ask if you can recite another
and as I am leaving, one more
and it catches me, turns me back
"the shadowlands"
because life is offered
and you seem to want it
but you fade away, 
trapped in your mists of shadow

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Sometimes I am melodramatic... Bear with me. My favorite thing is finding hope in hard places. If you enjoyed something (or not) I would love to hear from you! You can make me very happy by leaving a comment :)


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