Hidden
All that I sense becomes a memory
From the past
Dipping in and out
Of the present just as
The sun finds a hole
In grey clouds
That makes the future
Worth the hope for which I pay
This comes from the pandemic
When I sealed myself away
Inside my home
Draping myself in silence
Entombed in my own words
Like a man in a small town
who yelled at a street corner
No one stopped to listen
People have real problems
When others just talk at
Each other in monumental halls
Nothing gets solved
I could but I'm tired of all sides
Who also hide in themselves
From what they really want
In the open and alone
Barry G. Wick
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