The Waste Lands

Sitting here,
doing everything imaginable
and nothing
all at once: I can
slay a dragon,
conquer kingdoms,
explore new worlds,
be
a
god!
Reality, what have ye
to offer? … April?
Ha! Every month is cruel! —
and the sensationless embrace
of an undead community
seems far warmer
than the indifference
of the living throng.

And yet…

dimly I perceive
myself an emperor
with no clothes —
that beneath the
shiny, splendored surface
of my favored realm
lies a vast barrenness,
undoing many.

For I’m immersed in
carbon-copy feelings,
becoming
pseudo-satisfied with same,
as I live this electronic life —
one non-descript unit of time
merging
heroine-like
into the next.

Now my heart is being overrun:
flesh that once sought similar
is slowly assimilated:
replaced by fibre-optic cables

tentacling squidlike, seeking some
digital port to call home,
yet ultimately left …

Disconnected.

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Competition

I thought life was a race
that I needed to win —
and so I ran to be first.

Without equal,
I, alone,
broke the tape.

Then I gathered my breath,
and looked back to the crowd;
but the view from the front
was not as I had envisioned it would be.

For what I saw
was only the hollowed-out husks
of friendships I had lost or never known,
strewn behind
in the wake of my battlefield.

Now none remain
to celebrate my victory —
and I can run no more.

Ocean of Knowledge

In the ocean of knowledge, some people will swim on the surface of understanding, some will snorkel just below it, and a few will scuba dive down to the depths. Some will also choose to remain forever on the beach.

Barn

I couldn’t remember a time when you were not there.
For every childhood joy, you were there.
If I scraped a knee, or shed a tear, you were there.
Time moved forward, yet you stood still
and watched, while I grew.

Your familiar loft had welcomed me when once I snuck in
to steal my first kiss —
a secret you never betrayed.
I’ll always remember how wondrously foreign everything felt in that moment!

Nestled on the crest of an impossibly verdant hill,
it seemed as if the land itself had birthed you,
so perfectly were you situated.
Your unassuming white doors were a backdrop
for every spring’s breathtaking palette of colors;
and your ruddy red walls were like a warm beacon
which could be seen from miles distant defying winter’s gloom.

The passing years took me away;
yet nostalgia urged a return —
and so pleasant memories of simpler days
frolicked in my mind as I ambled once more
through your forested enclosure.
I never dreamed that when I emerged
you would not be there.

But too long had I been gone, for you did not greet me.
What I saw in your place, most called progress —
though I will always know better —
and so I resolved to build you anew with my pen.