I tiptoe softly into your head,
Ducking to avoid the misunderstandings,
Picking my way around the prejudices,
And skirting around the disagreements,
Searching for answers,
Looking for your inner self.
I slip quietly past the remains of your dreams,
Which lie pulsing quietly in a corner,
Trying not to make eye contact
With the glaring misunderstanding
And avoiding the grudge
That waits directly in my path,
Arms folded, waiting calmly,
Challenging my right to be there.
That much is familiar.
I almost walk straight past your inner self
Into a mass of self absorption.
It is not what I expected,
Not what I had hoped to find.
Quietly it asks me to wait, and I listen.
It opens its heart and sings in the darkness,
A tiny glittering bird of hope and yearning
Which has waited too long to be heard.
Its breath sweeps into the piled up disappointments
Scattering them across hidden spaces of time
Laughing at despair until it falls silent.
I turn away, and leave quietly,
Carried on the echo of its song.
I will not be back.
It is enough to know that it is there.