Dragon Chase

The words were there,
So present, so loud
That even at a whisper
Or chuckle
They fly like roman candles.

The words made verse,
Verse that I’ve known.
Read, mulled over, read again and recited
But my own head and my own tenor
Had nothing on this.
My wildest imagination and
My most insane creation could not have prepared me
For these words. Like this.

These cannot be the same words.
Not the same letters that I know, 
They’ve never left me breathless
In my seat, still as a mirrored lake
Unable to breath for the ripple would be too much.
These cannot be mine, 
Because mine never harnessed my being
And strapped my body, locked forward in ties that stretched to that stage
Unable to move as the noise would be too much.
The words I’ve known didn’t melt me
If a glimpse should happen
Eye to eye.
Of course my eyes don’t matter, they’re not my eyes
But they’re eyes that happen to meet with those that just
Happen to be mine. 
He saw eyes and I’m sure they were mine.

Of course there are hundreds of others.
Eyes all fixated in the same direction
All feeling the same thing.
I’m not special no, 
But what that evening did,
Those words did,
That was special. 
As I sat in silence, in shock even
This person, this mirage of an idol
Walked steps that I heard, as if to be a real live human.
Not much taller than myself, funny that.
But real. Not on a screen of all sorts of size
And not in an article but flesh and blood.

My words will never do this to me,
Nor anyone else
No matter who recites.
I’m content in that, I’m not responsible for that happening
To anyone. 
My words would never sew this seed in someone
And lead them on a dragon chase
Down each path to a dead end and a mirror.
With the word ‘ha’ written in the steam. 
But his words would.
And they did.
And while the drama of it all mocks me now I will happily
Swim in the indentations that it left.
Quench in its memory. 
Drown in the knowledge
That it won’t happen again.

Published by R.T

Brit born and Canada bound, I run On Tuesdays, my poetry blog where I write weekly(ish) poems.

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