Separation Poem by Nick Rosenbaum

Separation brings the irrigation,
to put out the fires,
of my everyday desires,
spreading through the peat,
through my veins like a disease,
to set my body,
for the let down and cease.

The pain is nothing,
a fragment of a piece,
a slice of a cake,
that has never been baked,
it sits in the oven waiting for the turn,
the turn that changes appearance,
but not chemical state.

Apparently I am a one way mirror,
an invention of deception,
to spy on the inside,
but not to see the out.

Sitting here waiting brings anticipation,
for the day I wait,
come far; come short,
for it is there,
amongst the inside of a one way mirror.