isn't it funny

she thinks to herself

how i've come to be perched here

on this dusty shelf

like a book full of secrets

no one's ever read

in a somnolent hall

a sealed vault of cold lead

isn't it funny

how they'll point from afar

with hearts of formalin

they'll dissect these scars

if for only one moment

they could be where she's been

they could not turn those heads

and deny what they've seen



it doesn't feel funny

she thinks through her tears

that she's wandered so helplessly

all these long years

to embrace what is left

when the fire's smoke has cleared

and she finds her arms empty

but for judgment of peers

it doesn't feel funny

to admit where she's failed

to reach out yet again

and pray breathe unassailed



but the secret still whispers

and ignore it she can't

for the music's still playing

and the soul...

needs the dance



"isn't it funny..."

and she pushes away

from the darkened old shelf

to rejoin light of day

                                                  ©2004 by Snayke
                                              All rights reserved