It comes and stays for just a while,
Although it comes from where
we do not know,
We think we see a person inside a smile
But time is oh so fast and we are slow.
There may have been a realness there inside
In all the movement of a written play,
But it was necessarily out of script,
And didn’t seem the worry of the day.
When hands are touched yet eyes
are glued apart,
And all the pieces of the game
Are put away,
Just losing then becomes the abstract art
To ponder on some other lonely day.
© 2013 DiAnne Ebejer