I stood in the freezing cold.
And the rain felt like snowballs.
On a side bench under neon lights, I sat.
With a blue circle surrounding my eye,
when somebody almost knocked my
lights out. Just staring at those who
gawked at me. As I smoked under a
store roof top. This is when I saw you.
You walked on by. To my surprise,
You were as handsome as ever.
"Life must be treating him well."
There was a provoking sound out of
the gaping sky to jump in front of a
bus. You would pay attention.
Maybe stop to see me lying there.
I'm not okay as my quivery voice
claimed. But, you didn't detect the
disturbing echos in the background.
So I hung up the phone.
I, the old worn out dish rag.
I, the door mat to most people.
Still, I thought you would have an
instant flashback. A relapse of our
long history together. Instead,
here I stand in the freezing rain.
And you can't even remember my name.
It's Ada... I uttered. The lighter burning
my fingertips. The expression on your
face. It told our story. I kept walking
through the foggy night.

The older I become;
I find darkness surrounds
to cool my soul. That sensation
of the warming heat...
It is bright, yes it is...
bright , yellow, lovely, sun...
Yet, it scorches darkness deep
to the piercing of my core.
When one attracts the other.
There is but disbelief.
The circus tricks of an atmosphere.
And all I have is shaky faith.
The power to walk neck up.
The will to run through the storm.
There,  it leaves a misty void.
As I move closer and hold my stand.
It is bright, yes it is..
bright, yellow, lovely, sun...
but I am cool from the moon sensation
I can withstand the burn.

Where is her joy? The flirtation of moonlit fire flies.
Yet, she sees strained blurs as love pulls away.
As Cupid shoots his arrow missing her mark.
Now left to be of the scarlet letter A.
The mark of the vexed woman so innocent.
Until she screams for release of chained pains.
But do you know her_ Joy,  the beautiful inclination
of ballerinas that dance in silhouettes.
Or maybe she misplaced her purse?
For fear Joy could have been stolen by Robin Hood!
And she begs for the doors to open, her  head
towards the holy alter.
And she kisses the feet of saints asking for
the forgiveness of sins unknown.
As her fingers sprinkle the piano keys.
Then maybe it will hear her music.
The resonating sound of woe.
Will it brave the sanctuary?
It is a good place. They say__
It shall swiftly awake her nightmares.
Tell her the beautiful side of the story and
then walk off as if only a dream.
Her joy is but a tempted imagination, she has
yet to master.
Did it not target practice her heart.
Because this is what life is made of. Joy!
And no one said, you shall not have it.
So maybe she is not living?