to be loved alone

the desire that hides at the centre of each heart
for all to love us and most to feel despair
at being unknown unmet and for the fair
light of each day to be a sign of individual art
what happens when we accept the given part
is not a spread of sparkles through the air
nor yet the fox running to hide in his lair
for fear that we will launch the fatal dart
instead there's the unassailable hard fact
that though we're each alone we're in a crowd
and every face is ours with some distort
to live each day requires some form of tact
steps that are quiet a voice that isn't loud
and recognition that this is all in sport