Loneliness

It isn't the smile or the eyes or the hair

Nor the way of the walk.

It's the presence.

Her and she, they have the presence.

Phone calls frequent, vocal chords more.

Turning, I try to watch the birds flying as

An airplane banks against the blue sky

Returning from Lost.

Waiting and waiting, the game keeps on.

Daring to win, I push on further.

Surviving is not thriving, as I sense their eyes

Feeling sorry, wondering at strength

They believe I hold.

Would they laugh, if they knew?

Would they cry, if they walked my mile?

~Cheryl

January 2011