and one million times the world of children fall
one million more from a million others,
each as miniscule as a thought
in sadness disguised space ships and
all as translucent as the moment.
and the sea of children drown
the city in tiny caressing touches
dripping stories
and matching the cold on undead fingertips
reaching for freedom from
within visible storage containers.
Serene static mesmerizing an entire culture
as each member stares out
trapped by transparent
programmed idiosyncrasies
and echoing the city's tranquilized discontent.
Discontent
that resonates from platitudes of infinite regressions
and diamond-sistered memories of the future.
Cold and remnant.
Deceased of action.
And I am a child of this night
having learned dissappointment
through organic monsters and their
discontented resolutions.
Even through my tears I cannot calm them
or heal them
or their children
or their misconstrued interpretations
of eternal moments spent
dancing in mazes through the night:
ceremonial disrespect to freedom
held aloft by a stream of conscious whisper
rooted in Gibraltar's rock.
When a lie
truly becomes the truth,
when you believe so hard
in alternate realities,
every resonance of who we wanted to be is
self-deceived
and remains crypted.
And everything but our self remains resident.
Each window into the past
each promise for a future
now aflame
as the dark night weeps
and the memories melt away.
If only my memories
lingered as buildings
and my prayers
answered as people...
Adding your comment:
This is a really thought wrenching poem. Hrm..wow. Not often am I left speechless but you have baffeled me. Great job!!!!!
