The Singers and their Song

Stepping aside
I need to avoid
the public displays of  
affection.
With a thud
my back is against the wall.
I choose to observe.
As friends among friends
converse.
No kin of mine.
And lovers' embrace
holding each other
tightly.
Look at them
without a care
for what actually matters.
Ask them something political,
you'll receive a stare
as blank as a piece  
of paper.
And conviction  
as thinly defined, too.
 
Hear their voices
taunting you?
Purposely..
They have their lyric sheets
but you are left
without.
They have taken  
your voice away
and taunt you
to sing along.
Respond with  
bitterness,
and continue to  
despise.
You can almost hear
the subliminal spite.
As they rise in crescendo
you fall,
in decrescendo.
Like a hammer struck
to anvil.
Or a silenced shot,
in the dark.
 
I find the wrenching embrace
distasteful.
It borderlines offensive.
That others have
nourishment to their emotions
and others,
are left to starve.
Cry for equality
sing the song,
of the hypocrites.
I cast my stare  
to those who lie,
and those who claim  
the lovers' plight.
We are all one
similar uniforms
with a pinch
of what's hot
to mix and match
A uniform.  
But are they one of the same?
With their facades of  
individuality.
They are. I am sure.
 
Public display of affection
sends my mind into;  
A private display of dismemberment.
Happiness never suited me,
nor love.
They're nothing of use,
not to me.
I never really concerned myself
in the lovers' plight.
Self-gratification never  
appealed to me.
My ego is my own.
Have you no sentiment left to share?
No takers?
Such a surprise.
A bell rings  
to mark the end  
of this day.
I cast these thoughts aside
only to dwell on them,  
later.