No one can reach you because you only are what they teach you
and what they taught you has bought you this solitude.
You are at the juncture of halls where the mask of men falls and the sea rushes in to meet them, where the future denies them or greets them,
where the glitterball spins in the disco of Kings,
but you know it’s not you,
you’re not in the dream,
this is the high school reunion.
and you wake into commonplace
wearing that common face
that nobody notices,
no one talks to you
and you wonder,
is that taught to them too?
© 2020, John Smallshaw.