So many silent, untold stories

in yesterday’s leftover footprints,

in this morning’s sunrise-silhouetted

figures in the distance.

I am a people watcher,

always curious about

human nature,

collectively and within each

individual character.

 

When the stage lights are unlit

and the microphone off,

I wonder about each’s

private feelings and thoughts.

 

We are not actors

on life’s stage;

we are each keepers

of our own private plays,

 

longing to be brave enough

to raise the curtain, so you

may get but a glimpse

of a scene of what we’ve

been going through.

 

So many footprints and silhouettes

crossing paths,

so little we know

of the bodies’ souls

leaving the tracks.

 

What lies inside the impression,

what lies within the shadow,

those are the mysteries

I continuously wonder about.

 

Which footprint seeped love,

which footprint seeped grief,

which figure is weeping,

which figure rekindling dreams?

 

Hearts upon sleeves

are taken up by the wind,

feelings in chests

locked and buried again.

 

So many untold stories,

so many opportunities passed,

to initiate conversation with another

and simply ask.