Jan 20
There is no pleasant meandering anymore.
No more glances into shop windows,
Or quick cheeky looks at dresses and jewelery.
No. The sparkle is long gone.
No dazzle and pizazz as when we were younger.
But grey walls and tiled floors.
All people trapped in these sliding doors.
A glass house that is soon to shatter once examined.
Now the mind ponders, queries and questions.
Ways to determine how everything is to be.
How they got that car through the door.
Or how they hang the decorative pieces.
The shopping centre reduced to what it truly is,
a bland, sad, drab place of consumerism, advertising and poverty.
But more the kind of invisible poverty.
The type were one buys to look rich.
But these tricks fool no one but the young and the naive.
Tacky nails, itchy extensions and flashy watches, all worth two bob,
with no purpose but to attract the eye and later,
repulse the mind at the stupidity of the decision.
Humanity at its lowest.
A maze for the weak minded.
Crappy food outlets to provide "refreshments" for the weary,
of mind, and body.
The attraction is an illusion.
The pretend that THIS WILL be the last and final time.
But it never is.
Because one more, one more is the nature of the world.
A hole inside us grows bigger and deeper and wider
and more empty as hours and days pass.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry For The Lost People
Poetry365 observations and comments about society, life and love throughout 2022. Come with me on my journey day by day, as I write what I've always wanted to say. There is no method or planning, just thoughts and perceptions about the way of the world. A...
