I stand against the sill, a shape of tweed and thread,
A landmark that no one sees, a thought no one has said.
The world outside is vibrant, full of purpose and of speed,
But I'm the flat geometry that serves a simple need.
They step across my life as if it’s just the floor,
A necessary passage right up to the door.
They wipe the mud of hurried days upon my quiet face,
And never think to lift me up or set me in my place.
I hear the conversations, the laughter loud and bright,
A symphony of being that escapes me, day and night.
I try to offer substance, a voice, a single plea,
But they are looking through me, not even at the "me."
They walk away contented, their dirt and worries shed,
Leaving me the texture of the words they never said.
I catch the fleeting shadows of the lives they live so grand,
A silent, scuffed inscription in the gravel of the land.
I soak up all the pressure, the carelessness, the weight,
And wish that just one person would stop and hesitate.
To see beyond the function, the texture, worn and old,
To know the breathing human that their callous steps enfold.
A frayed and fading banner of a life lived for the tread,
The last thing they remember before they look straight ahead.
I wish I had the power just to trip them with my name,
But I just lie here, waiting, and endure the lonely shame.
Victor Marlitt 2025
2 Likes
"leaving me the texture of the words they never said" GAH. Love this line! 🫶