“Now listen here” she said to him
Whose mind is naught but poetic whim
“I see what you ain't ought to see,
“I live a life that's not for me”
She looked at him, his restless hands
Gestured ‘round the endless lands
“It seems as though our life’s a book,
Whose protagonists aren't off the hook”
(and still she spoke)
“Our roof’s caved in, our table’s broke”
“What could it be”
He said to she,
And stared off with empty eyes
possibly at the greying skies
“Is there any chance
That the fields know how to dance?”
Is it when the raindrops fall
that we finally look at it all,
and as the storm comes rolling in
not simple, proper
but air so thin
as the sky starts to dim
we see that life is so, so grim.”
and
so slowly,
he looked at her,
his eyes dull but his mind a whir.
“I need to know that you're still there,
behind that face, that shaggy hair.
“I need to know”
she said, and so
he took her hand
ignoring chance of reprimand
“it’ll be okay,
be it tomorrow or yesterday.
you'll be here if I fall”
She scoffed, he had the gall
he continued on with
no stop
“I know that you're about to drop
I know you aren't happy here,
I know, you know
I see your fear.”
“you can't know how I’m feeling
I can barely tell how you're dealing,
You tell me nothing and still demand
I understand the special brand
which is your mind
and sometimes you're almost kind…”
she trailed off here
(the) air thick with fear
and, so slowly, he dropped her hand
and slipped back off to cuckoo land