Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Another Past Poem.

I wrote this back when I was spending way too much time on the internet in chat rooms.


I didn’t want this in my life,
this glowing siren that takes my days
and haunts my nights.
Taking me places I never wanted to go
along with those I did.
It draws my eyes and fingers and mind
into vortices of time and space.
Hallways and rooms that don’t exist.
Memories of an absent mind.
Who do I meet there,
passing the time in text and speech?
Countless souls lost in a limbo
more dreadful than any Dante could see
in his fevered dreams.
All of the lost, wandering, searching for hope.
What hope?
Hope they know nothing of,
a thing they can’t identify
except to know it’s absence.
Love, or understanding, or acceptance.
Missing pieces in their ever-shifting puzzle.
Constantly morphing from shape to shape.
This, or that, or him, or her.
Is it you? Will you love me?
Or cast me aside?
Am I your piece?
Are you mine?
Can we possibly be each other’s
piece, and peace?
How can we know
if words are lies?
Even the ones that are true?
Especially the true?
I hope
I trust
I love
Perhaps I lose.

W. C. Seward

No comments:

Post a Comment