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Blanca Rocha

I Ride my Elevator Alone

I ride my elevator alone. What an awkward silence it is to be alone.
I alone, with my soul and thoughts.
I alone, in the misty dust.
Second floor, third floor, and back to the beginning.
I ride my elevator alone, but then God steps in.
There in an awkward silence.
Pure remorse.
All in the emptiness and the calamity of my own soul.
Alone, in the emptiness of my heart.
Alone, he looks; alone he stares, alone he wonders, and really cares.
Third floor, second, fifth, sixth, and seventh.
In the vast destruction of a holly oath.
It stops.
I am alone.
Truly, I ride alone, but the sound persists.
I can hear the silent voice of sin.
It incites me, it will not desist.

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