Transparent and Dark

The old venue reaches across the boardwalk,
its magic long evaporated,
a victim of neglect and storms in equal measure.

There are windows. high and void of glass,
the sashes lacking paint.
Rot is plentiful.

There are windows, high and dark,
perfectly clear, with nothing to see
save the perpetual night inside.

You stand below, knowing this is what others see
when they look at you,
transparent and dark,

overwhelmed by neglect and storms,
strangely unwilling
to succumb.

About this poem

The picture was taken at Asbury Park, NJ. It was one of those “There’s a poem in this picture somewhere.” pictures. Months later, the poem arrived.

Most of us are a mix of transparency and darkness. (A few of you exude sunshine. We’re all blessed by you.). It’s a strange mix, everything in the open, hard to see.

Tom