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A Depiction Of The Novel 1984
Upon the edge of the so called enjambment manipulative psychological rhetoric
,I stand corrected upon the dividing wall of urban decay, if but to glance forward possibly backward through my looking glass, could I shape a thought perhaps create something that in all reality might come true. Like a rat on the never-ending wheel, running ahead, in a twisted perhaps a brilliant anticipation, the year forty eight and the moment- war torn. I stand, hanging, with without, within, held, unable, a breath suffocating, a realm of slumber, although to wake, awaken in death, of vast gray, without form - nor shape, a desolate cell of demise...yet, still gladly to forge ahead, crawling...
To fool the mind of grandeur or simply to put a conjuring thought to motion. Might I say...Who's reality is it, anyway...And then to enter...Perhaps her arrival, sent from the heavenly realm, as they say "Just in the nick of time" "She Loves Me - She Loves Me Not" in confusion, yet she turns as the world turns and leads me upstairs where I am taken away. Oh the ministry of truth...At last my freedom in slumber received...for now "Hello" and then, soon she shall go...
If a double thought of torture would remain. Perhaps to sit and watch the love of another day, for within the mind "I See" and silently around every corner, they watch...
cold war torn winter-
from the frozen hills above
the winds of change drift
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