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Five Minutes

A Poem About Longing for Meaningful Conversation

I wrote this poem back in 1995; sadly it is more true today than ever before thanks to the Internet, texting, social media, and society's disposable attitude towards people.

Five Minutes

A hurried, "Good morning, how are you?" starts the day,
before I can answer you're on your way.
Not even five minutes to spare?
I wonder, do you really care?

You label me quiet, withdrawn... shy,
yet do you stop to ask the reason why?
Not even five minutes to spare?
I wonder, would you ever dare?

I will not talk if no one wants to hear,
I sense you do not wish me near.
Not even five minutes to spare?
I find myself talking to empty air.

Hours I spend dreaming of the perfect conversation,
   of choosing the right words,
   to say at the right moment.
I wait patiently for the perfect opportunity,
   to express my innermost feelings,
   to say how much I care,
   only to be told,
"Sorry, not even five minutes to spare."

Too busy to look the other in the eye,
we say nothing in case we may pry.
Not even five minutes to spare,
we look away, afraid we may stare.

Oh, how I long for five minutes to share.

© Skye Bothma, 1995

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