I imagine that the wind flowing through my hair
is your hand weaving through the strands,
as I stand
in the midnight air...

I imagine that,
alone in the place where I used to hold you close
as my tears begin to enclose me
in the midnight air...

pain is your friend
it's your ally
it tells you when you've been
seriously wounded
and you know
what the best thing about pain is?
it tells you
you're not dead yet

I step out into the streets,
Ready to mimic the actions of those I’ve learnt from.

I do not understand the gleeful tones and beats
So I adapt another one’s joyful flow.

But I wonder how far this fake peace
Stretches across the land of our one and all.

Am I mimicking the mask of another mime?
I worry for the number who are stuck in a rhyme...

monotone voices hold
an element that glistens
in the light
of worldly havoc.
peace can be found
when one listens
to the simple
black and white.