She wails.

She wails amongst the others in an attempt to affirm her presence,
Sure, they affirm her voice, her laugh,
her wail and of course her well groomed body,
but the same cannot be said for her presence.

She takes a swig from the bottle and wails,
She takes a puff and bellows the smoke
while wailing her wail.
She passes the bottle and wails,
to whom?…who knows?
Why? Who knows?
She wails, she wails.

I know what’s behind those wails,
at least I like to think I know,
At least I wish what I thought I knew were true.
Behind those wails she can gently smile at the breeze in her hair,
Unaware that anyone’s there.
Behind those wails she can softly stroke and feel what’s really there,
Well aware this feeling is rare.
Behind those wails she can dance to wind, to sound, to silence,
Well aware there isn’t a care.
I remember what was behind those wails and I miss it,
I miss it,
I miss her,
I long for it.

I too have began to wail, I too strain to remain.
I too have lost the winds rhythm.
I too have lost soft touch,
I too have put up these wailing walls of uncertainty,
Like playing the game of being human,
Partaking in the pastime of existence,
Well aware of the rules of the game,
But completely unsure why we play it.

Throbbing wails,
Wails of fear,
Wails of hope,
Wails of pain,
Wails of indecision,
Wails of falsity,
Wails of imprecision.

I remember being behind these wailing walls,
And she was there with me,
Behind these walls was also within,
Now we are free,
But it’s not so cosy.