You could say you’re fine
But that would be a lie!
And it makes no sense
Just lying to yourself,
Pretending the sky is blue
When really it is gray
And filled with the clouds
Of our regretful memories;
Acting as if this wind
Isn’t as tumultuous,
And the anger, the tornado
That tore us apart has subsided
When really it grows!
You can even pretend
That the silence is just silence
And doesn’t speak volumes
Of the distance between us;
Because we are separated
By oceans and mountains,
Sitting on the same couch;
You can even pretend
That life never happened!
But pretending
Can’t sustain much longer;
We have lost our grace
In this eloquent illusion;
We can no longer dance
Like ballerinas in Swan Lake,
Or sail like a paper moon
In a make believe sky
©2013 – V. A. Coote