Muse |
Muse |
The train moans on, hissing its angst across the tracks. People penetrate its walls Day in, day out, Dulled by the blowing thrumb Of a job done and gone. The rain hits the window pane; It cries out into the night, A spyglass to the abyss Or early morning bliss; A stage of fear running far, Far, far away from here. Faces blurred and conversations unheard, There move the ants of the business world Inside a millipeed of speed. Copyright © 2019
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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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