Like beggars groping blindly in the twilight,
In search of riches lost they'd never gained,
So do we stumble, through a red room, lost, unknown, in fright,
Pursuing love's fruit just beyond the hand.
But then again, when we depend on friends
To spend and lend, and share where lovers smother,
And make it known our brain and bone be not alone,
We find ourself at loss to credit others.
Through isolated lights trav'ling in parallel,
We lecture out our blank communications
To minds that we can see but never touch,
And try to see theirself in our reflections.
All one, we know that we will never know
Whether others lived, and lived just as alone.
This is the completed version of the half-sonnet I posted last month. To read a rehearsal draft of the play of the same name in which it is embedded, email sable.veins at gmail.com