Prisms
These are the nights
When I wander into the chattering crowds of anonymity
And let the incessant sussuration wash me over
These are the nights
When I crave the twinkling of low lights and shadows to act as a balm
Against the dull ache of silence welling deep within me
Surround me with bustle
Numb me with sound
These are the nights
When the solitude I welcome becomes the prison I can't escape
Where reflection and need join as inmates against my will
These are the nights
When the blind and questing gazes of the throng perpetually miss
Me, though I sit center stage and watch their pantomime shows
Endless minds wandering
A finite loop
These are the nights
When my feet and heart lead me astray down paths I would never notice
To sights and sounds too meaningless to register as thought
These are the nights
When I am most alone in myself, and ever unable to find
The right words to set myself free from this broken prism
Refracted memories
Are not rainbows
These are the nights when I
Need words the most
But can't seem
To find
Them