I sit; my eyes greedily scan the room.
I see gesticulation, animation.
Practiced predators search for prey,
Oiled by potions bought today
From stores that sell such dreams.
In the corner bathed in insecurity
Lacking guile, to fake the smile
That brings such rich reward.
For him, tonight, no body to entwine.
My nose takes in sweet perfumes
The sweetest smell cannot foretell,
What's truth and what is lie.
But covers fetid feelings, if only, for a while.
My ears sift conversations, exaggerations,
Often, pointless lies.
The absence of veracity,
No invite...No surprise.
These gatherings are home to fools, no places for the wise.
I touch the leather chair, on which I perch,
I search for signs, of innocence,
A futile quest.
All my senses scream for rest,
So, no more time will I invest.
I leave the room.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
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Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about this poem (The Party by Owain Glyn )
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