The Poet's Soul

From a distance, I see the swirling
Of laughter form within the air.  It's
A tummelt of colours, dancing too
And fro.  Yet, a barrier keeps me from
Joining in, leaving my soul to try
So desperately to fit in.  Gusting
Winds keep my words masked from
The ears gathered within this mass
Of bright hues and flowing tunes.
My soul aches to be accepted by
Those gathered voices, to be
Understood through this pain that
Ebbs and flows like the tides of a
Spiritual ocean.  Where did I take
That fateful step off the beaten path
And plunged deep into the darkness
Of my own self?  If only ... If only I
Could find my way once more, then
Would I be taken for who I am?  Of
This, I am not sure!  I've become
A carpet of footprints, irremovable
From my being.  They dig into me,
Invisibly, as each new person tramples
Upon me.  Oh, to be that fabled gal
In those tall tales of love and chivalry!
Yet, alone I sit, in the shadows, lurking
The memories of those whose paths
I've crossed.  If even that much, I do
Truly wonder, if those who claimed
Such grandeious themes of true blue
Friendships.  But what more am I,
Other than a wraith of some self
Portrait?  And the poet's soul is
Bared for the world to read.

(c) 2003 A Riddle