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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A hand around the waist Makes a longing feeling quelled, A belonging feeling swelled; Oh what it is to be wanted, Desired, admired, and all those sweet Yearnings of the heart that rise and fall With reminders from romantic films, Tearful music so expressive, dolce, and Cantabile are like made up words, Meaning nothing at all, but the tone Means the world. Tell me you love me One more time. Wild imaginings once dreamed in a teenage Mind. The gap all too easy to fall behind. Fantasy men marching in their black jeans and loose ties, shoddy but cute to the eye. The school girl thrill. The chase all but a ruse Or a rush to get a kiss at the price of an ego Too under-developed to call mature. Boys in their blazers, too unsure of their own aspirations to call on any relation with you. A dream of Disney: the handsome and the royal Are not real. Dream on or forget that yearning. Bury yourself in your learning. Music unites the soul of one healing And the other cold; Waiting for the moment, So many deemed wrong. Unknown to the other as parts of the unwritten song. Words unsaid yet uttered as projections, A something never quite explained. Or explainable. Retrospection is the only looking glass To hear the true music, united in Time. The clock ticks on in tempo, The evenings roll on in separate lines, Parallel and unheard, silent aberrations of the Fledgling thoughts. Flying away to learn to Think. The words used in their artful form, The music of communication, intonation still Lingers. A thinker remembers impressions; Expressions from a year gone by. Who knew you would remember me, And I, so frustratingly forget my fantasies, Since condemning them as such, Giving me nothing but a silent wish, Sentenced to dream and imagine the impossible. But here you find me, revive me, and, Upon the wave that dives ever deeper, We become each other's keeper. Originally written in 2018, age 22
Tears that stain my face, Invisible to the eyes That gaze and spy. Those salt beads trickle like Pebbles on a beach, Made of magnified sand that Takes a hit, hit after hit and shrinks But never runs too far. The cobbles they make as they cry; A muffled bell in disguise, They sing but no one hears their call Apart from the seagulls masking their fall. Endless sea. Smooth horizon. Stretch and recede like a waving tide, Mind the rips and the current falling back, Back, back to where the moon strikes again. Tears fall. So do pebbles. Marbled and marvelled in their temporary dress. Masquerade, no sir! It's a rewind. Life go backwards. Becoming no more than dust. We are born. In the stars. We cry ourselves out. Originally written in 2015, age 19
When the moon, upon her glazed face, Shadowed by cloud and wrapped in twilight wisps, Turns the tide, which, in the night Now appears cloaked and cold, Bracing the lonely lulls of the bay; A moonlit walk has never been so bleak. For in the day, the sweet water trickles, The waves raise their heads back And bask in the merriness of new light; A crown to bear all beamish joy. A boy chortles to a hand held Outright and clasping in happiness. But for the spite of a refusal, A spit to the heart drives through, Though roughly like a splintered cane, It has all been in vain; The glorious light will fade again. As such a fire is quenched, The embers still burning ragged and coal-torn; A red room is filled with ghosts: Loves lost, lonely and long-gone. How does one go on? Return to a glimpse, those sparkling dances, Fleeting as a blink in a falling rain, A smile on the face of pain. The moon may rise and burst in stars, If but her gown drapes over to hide the scars. Originally written September 2015, age 19
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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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