Poem: Passing Period

Lonely halls, mundane walls,

I see you every day.

Bump in passing, no true asking;

Never much to say

Same is said of You and me;

Two functions that coexist,

But never stray that time of day

Or venture from the flock

Quick “hi” in passing, no true asking

But I still breathe your name.

I wonder if you do the same,

Or if I play a one-girl game

You are to me every waking thought,

But what am I to you?

A friendly glance, no name you sought?

I’m just another blurry figure in your passing through.

To live and not exist

In the minds of passing people,

Lonely halls, mundane walls,

Am I one of you?

I think, therefore I am,

But no one thinks of me

So I am to them and You: a nonexistent notion.

That passing hour, quickly devour’d

I walk the edge of your blurry vision

Hoping to convey my frisson —

Only to be dismissed upon the passing hour

With no more than a bleary glance,

A tilt of the head

I break the trance,

Gone like the dead

No word that could have been said,

I leave you with no passing notion.

Quarter-turn but then decide against it

Onward, mind in rapid motion

Another hour, passed away.

I live on not in the minds of passing people