Muse |
Muse |
Opal eyes see through and yet perceive nothing. Like anti-glare on glasses, The words read bounce off, Deflected, and thoughts dejected. Shooting through the pupil and seeping out the corners, Dropping, Lifeless, Onto the keyboard. The motor is about to stall, Yet everything has gone automatic. Routine? What about auto-pilot. Glazed but not the sugar kind, But of another world: Spaced Out. Shut in. Clocked out. Locked down. Freedom is a distant friend: Trips to the coast, Walking to work, Taking the train. Smiles stretch the skin At the horse’s mouth, Now long and drawn, And about to inflate with wonting, Wishes of chewing the fat, Dreaming of a picnic on the grass. What does your family look like? Pixel block heads bobbing, Zooming, Skipping, Flicking like a camera lens In and out of focus. A far cry from Minecraft, Wishing I could dig my way out, Scratching at the walls inside my brain, Incessantly blinking for what I see to make sense. Groundhog Day has come. Round and round we go. There’s no stepping off the merry-go-round; Unless you want to stop breathing. All aboard the mind game Carousel, Spinning inside the walls of thought, Like a pin ball stuck circling the drain. With an hour of whispered air To remind you that life was once easy, The penny drops. The sun dawns every day And shines on our salty cheeks, Calling us to rise. A challenge. A call of nature. We hear a distant plea from the new growth of Spring And an Earth that inhales for the first time in decades. Some insist on sucking up the sun, Basking in baked sand, Rubbing shoulders with each other, And sharing the siren. Sacrifice is the privilege of few It seems. Lockdown fatigue takes its toll; A knell for those who are old. Reform the researcher. Run. Round and round the park. Feel the breeze, hear the leaves, and smell the sweat Trickling down your own heart, Beating on. Beating strong. Running the distance is like climbing out of a hole. Rallying those out of reach, Stretching my tongue, Meeting eyes not seen in a while. While my free friend has to stay at home, I look into the pensieve and Drop back into the lives of other eyes, Whose existence as colours on my computer canvas Is a lifeline. A rope not to hang from, But to ascend, Back onto the land line; Finding a ship docked, Ready to sail from the locked And toward the clocked in, Breaking out. Originally written June 2020, age 24
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AuthorSamantha is a doctoral researcher researching the power of figurative language in advertising, social media, and mobile technology. Copyright © 2022
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