The Wall Within

A hundred hands may wave hello,

My circle stretches far and wide,

A glittering, expanding galaxy of faces.

I wear the badge of social glow,

A persona polished by years of practice,

With nowhere left for me to hide.

From all the laughter, chatter, speed—

The ceaseless, humming frequency

Of a busy, pleasant, surface life.

I move through it with practiced ease,

A master of the graceful pivot,

The knowing nod, the quick, witty reply.

I plant a seed of friendship in every brief encounter,

But plant no need, no urgent desire,

To share the fragile, intricate root of inner strife.

That soil remains untouched, protected

Beneath a carefully cultivated veneer.

I’m fluent in the easy grace,

The casual etiquette of the crowd,

The light exchange, the friendly art

Of keeping things buoyant and untroubled.

I hold my ground, keep pace for pace

With the energy swirling around me.

But with a discipline honed by instinct,

I guard the chambers of my heart.

They see the joy, a bright, unburdened thing;

They know the name, the accessible presence,

The quick advice, the ever-ready helping hand.

But do they know the private flame?

The solitary, almost sacred fire

That burns when the crowd disperses?

Do they comprehend the quiet wish I understand,

A silent vow whispered in the empty rooms?

This is a hidden wish for something more,

A hunger that the fleeting nature

Of nodding, quick hellos can never satisfy.

It is a desperate yearning to stand before an open door,

Not just ajar, but wide, welcoming the cold draft of honesty.

And let the chosen currents flow—

The true, deep rivers of thought and feeling.

It means taking the terrifying risk of being seen,

Truly and wholly, stripped of the social armor,

Embracing the profound fear of vulnerability.

It is the urgent, essential work

Of trying to bridge the gap that lies

Between the friend I am—the comfortable, reliable construct—

And the authentic soul I truly wish to be.

I long for souls with whom to build a sanctuary,

A trust that does not need the exhausting

Scaffolding of pretense. I search for the sacred space

To be fulfilled, not just busy, by sharing what I hold intense—

The deep convictions, the quiet sorrows, the complicated ecstasies.

These lie beneath the surface chatter.

I have the crowd, the sprawling, beautiful, demanding crowd,

Now I must dare the single, hardest act:

To drop the stone that shields the well.

To lower the defenses, to shatter

The carefully crafted stories I tell,

And let the few who truly care,

Those with the steady gaze and the listening heart,

See past the bright, easy narratives and witness the truth held within.

I want to trade the effortless multitude for the arduous, sustaining few.

More Works by Nancy Ann Creed

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