Grinning at the Disco

Robert sits alone,
not in a corner,
but on a forsaken satin sofa
placed in a crowded room.

Hood up, eyes down.
Slouched over,
defeated.
The world was his oyster,
but filled with sand.

The people hardly notice Robert.
They laugh and dance and sing.
Not a single life in the room
bears as much weight as Robert's life.

They will descend at some point
in their life.
For some, that point may be
in a place that is
a psuedonym for home.
A prelude to a minor key.
Others may find it in a memorable spot,
a vision from a nightmare,
a final trace of a love lost.

Robert has found his at the disco.

The party and Robert's depression
progress and elevate together,
to an intense, impenetrable power,
filling the being of each's participants
to a magnetic invincibility.

In a nostalgic groove,
the leaves begin to change.
The club is taken to a cool breeze,
and the sounds of high school pride
augment the emotions
soaring in the minds
of everyone in the room.

Once again everyone in the room
succumbs to the hypnotic rhythm.
Except for Robert.

The music takes wing,
soaring higher and higher
until it dramatically reveals its full wingspan
and glides gracefully above the partiers.

Robert becomes fearful
as the tumblers begin to align.
But he allows them to go.

Slowly, the eyes rise,
head still tilted down.
But Robert slowly smiles.
A smile of escape.
A smile of self-forgiveness.
A smile of enjoyment.