In-Beween The Lines Poem by Gary Winkel

Separate me from the present
to carefree delusion
from the past, a young man.
Dialogue of a poet on paper
to himself.
Listen to past words,
moments of beautiful,
like it matters.

She's walking alone
along a graffiti and tagged
tunnel wall.
A Instagram stroll down
my simple observation
of my own desire
to be there
next to her.

I won't show up
until it's over,
until the needle lifts
from the spinning vinyl,
until the conversation dies,
until the night time stars are obscurred.
It's now or never.
I'm waiting for forever.

I get so sad
that I'm not leaving
this static pool.
Wallowing in children's chatter.
Sitting on the edge
of the waiting room chair
in my head
in front of fear.

Used to let go and
ride the waves.
Carried on the tides
back to where I am
before I was,
Silently drumming the beat
of hearts and souls
on a one way ticket

across a fantasy.
Used to be a dream
when dreaming was easy,
when silence was poetry,
when images embraced a story
yet untold,
subtle, profound, the beauty
in-between the lines.