Photographed
I was sitting, cabaret of the motionless
Unable to express the yellow pain
- A growing stain, like a mask of shame -
There was no room in any heart
To welcome it, to welcome life
I was now erased from the panorama
Of the hectic solipsistic souls
Whose bodies had become unavailable
For the truth of words:
I could no longer move them.
The frozen core
Of the motionless emotionless
Hypnotized, devitalized, turned
every attempt into confrontation
with cynical void and avoidance
Their cadaveric emptiness
In endless suffocating afternoons
In furnished spaces that can never be a home
Had eaten up the verses
The waltzes that could have been
Some emptying machine
Had taken the movement away
From a body that was forgetting
The syntax of life, far from humans
In a factory of bruised coherence
Click, cut and steal
A slice of skin, a surface to strip
An identity transferred on a screen
The self, injured, deprived, aloof
Weakened, sacrificed …
to the automatic
Predatory complexity of multiplied images
That devitalize the living and devalue
The dead… there I stood, not knowing
To which side I belonged.
Your mood was a bit too dark when you penned this, Axilea.
But I can see through your veil. And I see a vibrant, caring
person who always knows where she is standing. Tell your muse, "nice try." Cheers!
There may be some misspellings that are making the poem meaning more ambiguous, but maybe not.
Ron
A dictionary handy is a good thing to have and I love the range of verbiage you employ. One can feel the angst in every line. Very nice read!!