dminnisher411

I wrote this poem while waiting for a date who never showed up.


Plato, dark and handsome, looked at me with his piercing eyes and said nothing. What was on his mind, and why was he in my living room? I try to make a joke about the mess, but I bet that guy doesn't speak English. Not a word. I open my wallet and pull out my license, but I'll bet Plato doesn't drive.

Time traveling Plato. What have you come here to say? I can see it in your eyes there is a wisdom there that leaves you speechless. It just leaves you. Your body has traveled through time and space but your words are left behind. Your words only behind. What are you saying right now in your time? What are you saying about my living room?

Old, mysterious Plato, I've read some of your books. I read them but they say nothing. They say nothing about this room or my apartment. Damn you the missing manuscript, lost in the fires of Alexandria. Damn that manuscript about this room and my apartment. Plato's words were burned in a fire.

God help us. God help all of us. Plato and I are standing here, but Plato, that poor bastard, simply has nothing to say.