New Jeanland

Amid the murmurs, laughter’s fleeting glow,
I drift through crowded rooms of faces near,
Their words like rushing streams I cannot know,
Each flowing past, untouched, and insincere.

The music swells, a tide that pulls away,
While voices rise like waves upon the shore.
Though I may stand where all my friends array,
I’m stranded, reaching out for something more.

I wear a smile, a fragile, wooden beam,
A hollow plank stretched over empty air.
Each glance I cast falls short, a broken dream,
A desperate search for bonds that aren’t there.

Though hands may wave, no solace lights my way,
I drown in noise, yet drift further away.