Look left,
look right,
left again,
to the right.
No one is coming.
But he hears something
like a low whistle
like an oncoming train
hampering it's threatening form
behind brick and glass
waiting for the crash.
For him to cross,
for him to die
in the midst of metal
and the corrosion of skin,
bone collapsing
into the fresh pavement,
like cheese melting
into a grilled sandwich,
like waves crushing the sea shells
embedded into a cliff,
because they have no where
else to go but become another
grain of sand in the empty ocean.
Don't cross green means red,
red means red.
Contemporary thoughts of constant motion,
bourgeois!
Life is police
they find you.
Life is a plant
it grows without you.
Life is fire
it burns everything
don't bother to ignite it.
This contemporary idealism
of finding your own way,
adapting to adaptation
it's for the birds.
I'll just stay home today...
Author notes
The tone here is sarcastic. It is showing a life in which someone has not adapted to the contemporary era and thus fallen behind. The comparisons I make are the way he might see life. Don't approach life, let it approach you. I had fun with this. Thank you.
A contest entry
- Invite Only by Starz of Heaven.
550 points, ended December 6, 2007, 15 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
-
Wow
I love this you have done a nice job with this piece it is by far my favorite so far,Thank you for this much love
-
Your Prompt:
If the individual is to be happy in the contemporary order, he must be open-minded with respect to new values and new arrangements.
Thomas Cochrane
Adding your comment:
