I see you sit expectantly biting lips
  on the extended museum steps leading
to a veranda around the building, that invites
a flash mob,of your ilk, effervescent, to come together
perform and celebrate, nothing in particular,
  except giving a shock pleasure to all those marked  "the other"

Once you made me believe, together we make a whole,
that is the story we live on I was told, I merely listened,
I and you missed few beats and steps here and there
find us now in pages different, why, even ages apart,

"What a fine specimen,!" a pacifist, I can't but appreciate
watching your elan. As if seeing an alien in my home ground,
I watch the spectacle, gulping down my discomfiture dutifully,
while you romance with much finesse,to the cell phone,
you cling on as if it's the beau you want to show off.

"Wouldn't she make a fine museum piece?"
that would point towards the life style,
that highlights only the moment present,
and constantly on the run to remain there,
while past vanishes and future becomes obscure more and more.

With a gentle smile for you to pick up, when you are at peace,
I move on; more than the museum pieces still living,
I am interested in  regular exhibits I easily grasp.

and there
shall be a call
of the tormented
gathered as one
where bells peal
haunted
by the withered will
of a yew tree's shawl
summoning under
its protective veil
left from winter's
warning tale
to those whose
summers never
fail
and those who left
their clock to rust
yet trust that strike
though dull as dust
eleventh hour at
midnight past
too late they fast
turn round their heart
to wind it back
and grind the beat
imparted by its
creaking sticks
which speak of stumps
low cut to fit
that fate below
the mighty oaks
who may in pride
loud beckon youth
to climb great thrills
yet use no rope
though soon a meeker
whisper rose
to shake them down
to the ground of woes