the unmarked map

the sad feeling of something and nothing at all

The streets all have names I cannot pronounce,
and the birds sing in keys I don’t know.
I am standing in the center of a crowded room,
watching the clock hands move, but the light won’t go.
Every door I open leads back to the hallway,
every person I ask has a face like a stone.
It is a strange kind of magic, to be so surrounded,
and yet feel so entirely, quietly alone