Notes About The Poem
Urban isolation - a parquetry weave of paradoxical phrases that articulate the internal friction of a soul caught between longing and detachment.
Original Copy
The house stands silent in the deafening silence,
Where memories drift like a small crowd in the hall.
I sit with a photo, an original copy of a dream,
Watching the living dead shadows lengthen on the wall.
It feels like organized chaos, this heart of mine,
A bittersweet ache for a time that has fled.
I try to act naturally, to breathe through the hollow,
While the definite maybe of tomorrow stirs overhead.
Outside, the city is an open secret of motion,
Where strangers remain alone together in the rain.
It is an exact estimate of how much I can carry,
This friendly takeover of sorrow and mundane pain.
I am clearly confused by the way light catches dust,
A virtual reality born in a flickering way.
Is it an awfully good mask that I wear for the neighbors?
Or just the only choice that I have for the day?
The clock ticks on, a liquid gas in the rafters,
As I ponder the clearly misunderstood path of the soul.
I find myself drifting in a serious fun kind of madness,
Just trying to make these broken pieces feel whole.
Two worlds collide to show a twist of fate,
A logic gap that defies the heavy weight.
Opposing thoughts unite in artful play,
To capture truth in a strange and clever way.
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