She Is Irony Poem by Maura Herboldsheimer

She keeps on with her running
But she's not running closer
Nor is she any farther away.

Nothing is holding
And nothing is hiding
But still she is shackled yet she cannot stay.

She looks at us with a smile
And in time all the while
Her insides are churning in depression's crusade.

There's a frown on her face
But she's secretly pleased
And she'll wrap arms around you in sordid embrace.

The music is dancing
And so is her feet
Yet she is statuesque all the while.

She's still as can be
She's quiet endlessly
And yet with a shake she is twirling a mile.

She reads but she's blind
With her all-seeing eyes
Which can pull you away, but you're by her still

She's as mute as a monk
With her well-spoken oaths
She'll try to be there, but she never will.