The Stain

The question is endlessly insistent
upon entrance to this hall without decoration.
A bland, blue wall necessitates conversation
that pushes blushes into unshaven faces,
but prevents worse fears, though the worst will come.

The eyes of my quiet desperation, endlessly pacing,
posing the question, then erasing and rolling on
in frustration. Persistent in lacking participation,
a stubborn generation must want to be taught,
as my beard is pulled, though short, young, but wrought.

Shabby t-shirts and jeans, endlessly worn.
More faithful, more remembered than friends they hold
in bonds bound with laughable things, for deeper
connections may move in maturity, which is fear...
for it is thoughtful and loyal, silent and sincere.

And seeking isolation in noise that is endlessly slinging
the stain of entertainment against pure walls,
and standing on the line, for boredom is banished
by the exciting threat of my terse attention
and life that is richer when wrapped up in tension.