on the cusp
of a lighthearted breeze
or the point of needle
filled with things
that must be said
and things no one
wants to hear
it’s talking without
having to listen
even when you
think you are
there are the ones
who think they’ve won
and those who
know they’ve lost
some with the bad taste
left from nasty words
others holding back
tears they don’t want
to wipe away
who is who,
no one knows
names aren’t real
faces change shape
a battle fought in a realm
that doesn’t really exist
up in a cloud that
no one sees
that can never
really touch you
yet it does
deeply
harshly
gently
lovely
painfully
– – –
free verse, c.b.w. 2018
C.B. Wentworth 