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Waiting for happiness.
What about the girl who was never discovered.
She, so prettily, wore her ballerina leotard
pink satin with lace tool.
Waiting alone eagerly smiling at everyone passing by.
Looking for that acceptance,
for that force, that knows more than her,
to tap her shoulder, whisper in her ear
"Come and join the elite."
What about the father that was never discovered.
He worked hard all his life and sits
in the waiting room wearing his best
suit and tie that he could afford.
Alhough he knows it is out of style
and obviously made of bad material.
He is still waiting for that
promotion to come and place a life
for his family and himself in his hand.
What about the mother that waits to be discovered.
she worked hard for years and just would like to here
a thank you from that force.
she waits for one person that hears the cries
that for years were captured by her pillow.
she's awaiting that knower
of secrets to hand her the life of
leisure she deserves.
What about the poet that holds in contempt, the best of people,
for being the same as he.
Still sitting here, waiting to be discovered
without any secrets. Looking through
each porch glass in disgust at the
balmy green layer that the willow trees
have been pissing on his picnic table.
To afraid of bees to leave his enclosure.
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