The Ugly Silver Screen and the Reel that Never Changes

A fairly long poem, like most of mine, but if you would take the time to read it I would appreciate it very much ^ ^

Some days are harder than others,

As I’m sure you all must know-

Some days are harder than others,

When you have nowhere left to go.

Funny how you can walk down a street,

And see so many different faces-

But never once do we take the time

To see past their quick short paces.

What does he think when he’s all alone?

How can she stand to wear such showy clothes?

Why does the man with the briefcase,

Glare like such a hawk?

As though the woman and her toddler,

Would come up and snatch that case,

As they idly pass by and walk.

Why do the children scream and wail,

For things that they so want,

As mothers and fathers everywhere,

Give in with faces gaunt.

What do peddlers, as they call out in boisterous tones,

Have when they get home?

What does the man with the un-shaved face,

Do as he shoves through?

What does he have in way of grace?

What does he have left to praise?

Can anybody dare to say-

What they all have in common,

At the end of the day?

Flashing lights,

and blaring horns.

Billboards so bright,

and starlets so worn.

Eyes with no life,

and advertisements that attack-

like a vicious eternal strife.

Crosswalks that blink,

and cars that zip past.

Hundreds of people,

and a moment that won’t last.

Cigarette smoke,

and crowded old bars.

Foggy cracked glasses,

and fallen cigar ashes.

New newspapers printed,

but with same old repeating stories.

Gun violence and worries,

but the specters no longer feel.

It’s just a tape on replay-

a never ending old reel.

Seen it a million times,

yes, everyone has.

Watching it so long they seem to have all wasted away,

Staring at that dark and ugly silver screen.

Deaf to all sounds,

the noise and the horns, the cries of their fellows,

Blind to the hopes some have for tomorrow.

One step outside- and they all get swallowed up.

Swallowed up, in greed. Looking at that screen that always seems to say-

“You will never be good enough.”

Glamour. Glamour.

The old reel turns.

Fame and Fortune.

The film just repeats.

Better. Faster. Stronger.

The words echo to a willing silent theater.

Been there so long, so long indeed-

Seen it a million times,

Each ghost a seed,

Strangled out, by this eternally toxic weed.

What have all these people in common,

Woman and man?

Peddler and Businessman?

Parents exhausted,

And the girl in revealing apparel?

They’ve all seen this reel.

Seen it a million times.

They are used to being trampled,

and left in the dust.

They all know what it’s like,

To give away trust,

and have it ground into nothing

in the wake of revving engines,

cigarette smoke,

the old tragic headlines, now numb to the core,

the proud bragging cries of the rich and the powerful,

the lies of those they dared to believe in.

People are people,

yes, this is true.

And every single one has felt, I tell you,

The worst pain to feel-

The pain of helplessness,

of worthlessness?

They’ve been there. They've lived it.

They’ve all given up.

All they want is to survive-

And this reel?

It won’t shut up.

Reviews

[Catherine Frain]

Heyo, Saundy!

So this was a great poem. (Some parts of the letters were cut off, but easily solved by pasting it into a new tab or something). The story was great- the message clear. What is life but a reel always on a loop, playing to a group of people over and over again.

Yeah...it's just great.