Glimpse

As she gazes through

The pristine frame

Of Progression,

Her exhaled thoughts

Fog the Immaculately

Limpid glass.

Those under

Observance continue

To wander through the

Segregated sterility

They have painstakingly

Constructed,

Unaware of her

Scrutiny.

With mirrors polished

To transparency,

They can now only

Point at each other

As the stainless steel bricks

Of their despondency

Are mortared together

By the stifling progression

Of time,

Forming the framework

Of what is deemed

'Life".

For lack of a reflection

To show them who

To become,

They attempt to

Define themselves

By contorting their despair

To fit the framework

Of someone else's

Principles.

Her nose

Brushes this port hole

Of objectivity;

The fogged glass

Cries tears of

Laughter.

She shrugs

And

Turns away.

Author's Note

This isn't meant to sound pretentious or cocky; I felt like it may come across that way.

Reviews

[Ravyne Hawke]

Your poetry never ceases to astound me. I get lost in the words and sigh when I come to the end. This piece is beautifully written, not pretentious at all. It flows well and has beautiful imagery. Excellent work as always, Ben.

[Judy Ponceby]

I don't feel this is pretentious in any way. I do however feel that it is exquisitely worded, a commentary on how people live their lives judged by a snapshot of a moment. This flows very well Ben. Most excellent.

[Thomas Fitzgerald]

I feel emotionally astute, I read your prose twice. Each time I was shocked and awed by your imagery and imagination, great flow and time. Well Done.