to be a stranger –
is all you’re taught to be,
is all you’ll ever be,
among voices of solitude upheld
to be no more than just a turn to sorrow,
glancing straight up towards the pain of others
through eyes shadowed by those tears
withheld not, so as to forget the moments,
when the right path seemed to follow you,
along steps taken to undo –
not errors, not regrets, nor torments
but a will forgotten in plain sight –
to notice depth over the breadth
of words unclosing into faith,
as budding hopes unfolding into fright,
on day one of another life
that started as a calling,
to bring together all that’s lingering
within, without, withholden.