Across The Table

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Across The Table

I remember the times we sat
and held hands across the table,
unable to say goodbye.

Not necessary we thought
for in the morrow
we meet again.

But soon the day arrived
when we did not meet,
expecting always a more

convenient time to come.
There were no other times
for when the day arrived

where darkness slid
behind the eyes,  the image
was no more reflected.

Foolish we were.
Did we not know public praise
could usurp a life?

But we sopped it up
and gloried in the satisfaction
of our own importance.

Forgetting that this illusion
was also supported
by hands held

across the table.

photo by
John Holmes

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