Habitual

Do you see the sagging

Power lines that measure out

The sad silence of the land?

Haven’t you peered into

The red, sleepless eyes of

The tailgate lights on the highway

Staring at you on a well-lit path

To a smog choked city

Where grim-faced multitudes

Worship their crude idols daily?

 

Do you feel the invisible

Spider weaving her dark web

Around your heart,

Feasting on your will

At its leisure?

I do, as I pull the night

About me like a heavy robe

Smooth, splattered with stars

With your pale, moonlit face

For a pledge pinned to my chest

 

A flock of birds scrapes

The glass ceiling of the skies

Frantic like kites cut loose

From their taut strings

I am there with them

Untied, released, aimlessly

Free of your lovely hold

Falling into the blue void

Circling the drain of

The heavens above

 

The helpers are helpless

In these strange times

They feign a hopeful smile

But you know better as you

Start down a road that coils

Round like a serpent biting

Into its own tail, as if to say,

“This is all you’ve got: the illusion

Of movement, of meaning, and

A life of habitual blinking and breathing”

Reviews

[Dave Brown]

a number of things quite recognizable
grim-faced multitudes (now masked) and lines of taillights and a habitual life of blinking and breathing
Also relate to the hoards of birds which always hang about year round
Not sure where you were going here but these reached out
Stay safe out there

[Laz K.]

Thanks, Dave, as always.
It was, I guess, an attempt at expressing a general feeling of discontent. But, as Emerson said, "Nature always wears the colors of the spirit," by which I understand that we project ourselves into the environment. So, basically it's how I was feeling that day: dark, hopeless, etc.

Thanks again for reading and commenting!

[Dave Brown]

Cheer up
I'd forgotten about Emerson, you are obviously much better-read than I, however you have sent me on his trail now
We used to study all this in school but I was never a 'literature' fan, so I still recognize all the names but have no idea what their writings were about.
Do have a better day!

[barleygirl]

WOW! This is butt-kicking imagery like I can only summon a little here & there, yet you've got a whole turbulent river of rollicking possibilities rolling down this mountainside. Sagging powerlines, red sleepless tailgate eyes, pull night around like heavy robe, kites cut loose . . . on & on! Wow! I want to be one of those kites cut loose & your poem shows us how free it can feel (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[emmajoy]

Seems like a black and white movie.. moody, mysterious. Places and feelings to peer into, wanting to see what they represent, perhaps a little wary of how they represent themselves. Such fine writing,

' A flock of birds scrapes ~ The glass ceiling of the skies ~ Frantic like kites cut loose ~ From their taut strings ~ I am there with them '