Poem
Cult of One
Where they sway, but never dance
Published in
1 min readMar 7, 2020
Their upbeat tune lights up the night,
calls out to me from under the tree
by the bench, where they sway, but never dance.
The giddiness of their song prompts a smile,
strumming chords harmonies ride.
They’re chummy on this chilly night,
oblivious to passers-by like me.
We orbit like fleeting souls, cynical
outsiders confounded by their bliss,
wondering what keeps their choir as one —
that I find peculiar their unbridled glee
is more telling in what it says about me.
