What life’s made of



Is it in truth all that we dream of?

To haunt the shores of turquoise blue
Anonymes in a sea of gaudy hues?
Strangers in a strange land
But staying herded, choir of many bands.
Static, incurious, huddled in the shadow
Of garish sunshades. Endless rows
Of non-seers. Basking in fake delight,
Hastening day and nights.
A ghost among lifeless peers
Who scorn the sight but are eager
To click, shoot and box it. Hordes
That blindly gulp and record.

Or without ever breaking rank
To scurry along the river banks
Voiceless follower, meek and tame
Who disdains the Delphic Thames,
Transfixed by the obvious Malls :
Giant trinkets of light, so tall
They wound the regal murks.
To dive underground, and lurk
Faceless, a dot in numb seas
Of parkas and umbrellas. Tiny,
Hurrying, forgetting yourselves
In the cusp of a rolling wave.

Mindless, throwing a thirsty hand forth,
Hoping to snatch more.
More more and new.

Is it all there is?

Copies and greed.
Phoney lights on false rapture.
Full stomachs in empty days.

©Kémy – 27/10/2020

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