Just like old times
between anger and anguish.
Like a play, the scene unfolds,
The plot predictable:
Nothing changes.
Rage, sorrow,
In the usual patterns;
Hurt, silence,
Stamping feet--
Why?
Not for the reasons you think.
Treading the tense, tight wire,
Walking the web of fear,
You think you're on new ground,
But it's all the same
As it always has been.
The issues are on the surface
Like a new rug covering a stained floor,
But the stain is never dealt with.
Eventual, tentative reconciliation comes,
A new layer of carpet,
Protecting you from the stain,
But separating you further from the floor--
And the floor, in spite of the stain,
Is still the only reason you're dancing together at all.