February night, Nine o’clock. The lights
Lose their brightness on the street. The winds
Brushed against the cheeks. The bytes
Of a smart phone bigger and bigger and it reminds
And controls me. I feel my brain is empty
Because of the alcohol like the late street is empty.
Sometime, street became the less bright
Than before, but I couldn’t know the reason.
Because of the electric charge or my eyesight,
Was weakened by the ages. The silly season,
Always to me, because of my weakened ears
Or other reason. Because of my mind
Or not, the thoughts occurred on in twined.
-
Author:
Kinsley Lee (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: February 15th, 2023 17:52
- Comment from author about the poem: Last Sunday night I've been to Bug-Chon in Seoul. 8 o'clock at PM, I felt that the street is dark and no passers by. After Corona, the street is early closed. It's sorrow to me, no vividness at the street.
- Category: Short story
- Views: 15
- Users favorite of this poem: L. B. Mek
Offline)
Comments2
A fine write K.
Hi! Orchidee
Thank you for your kind comments. Have a nice day! BR. Kinsley
hazy, quietude
blurring lines between solitude
and solidarity of societal conformity
our steps, evaporate unwitnessed
soundless
wait
weren't we complaining, of congestion
a few warped memory's, ago
8 billion, we were screaming
of overpopulation
we were lamenting, now
we're asking
where's everyone hiding, like
at our childhood's school yards
we wait
hoping, they'll remember to come
back, for us
...
Hi! L.B.
Thank you for your kind comment. Some country is over populated, some country is run short of the person. Some places are over populating and some places are running short of people. Imbalance. It's the problem of our age.
Thank you so much. Have a nice weekend!
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