Baited with Bated Breath

A hand hangs, extended in the air,
grasping nothing but what is there,
nothing;
held up by nothing but willfulness.
You seemed to shun even the most innocent
gesture of friendship,
and made it more than it was:
false promises, disproportionate fantasies.

Why do you mock me?
Your gesture of decency shrouded in mystery.
'Tis more than happenstance
was your crude claim, your refrain.
You shove me away,
then invade my world again.
Why do you hide?
Why do you run?

A hand hangs, extended into the balance.
No need to be tentative anymore,
no need for caution, for cloak and dagger.
The time for daring is at hand.
Actors on a stage are we all,
and thus thy time is at hand.
Unmask thyself dear heart, dear soul --
first to thyself, and then to the world.

This complex and complicated dance continues,
though I'd almost rather it wouldn't.
It seems that 'tis in fact more than happenstance.
You leading, whilst I tumble and stumble,
pulled along in the wake of the unknown.
I'm tired of trying to dance unknowing and blind.
And so, I break away to dance alone,
though I look back with a wink and a smile.

This is the last of it,
this is all that I have left.
My endurance is not what it once was.
My desire is fading into the mists.
Master of the game, master of the dance,
I bow to you, this round you win.
Enjoy your old world, whatever oblivion you find.
'Till divergent paths may converge once again.