In the flatlands of the soul
Where the birds fly so low
Where at the heart of being
We fly solo
I took a train to Lille
In false economy class
I got more than I bargained for
In a sense regaining innocence
The sounds abound in a rhyming clash
Like all we thought lost, we never had
From a window, unseen, is the essence of life
Automatons busying themselves feeding the machine
Was it ever thus? For the soul to die screaming?
Tides of ideas trickle into action
We yearn for what we never had
And all too soon we are dust.
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Author:
Emile Dubois (
Offline) - Published: December 11th, 2024 14:10
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 38
- Users favorite of this poem: Cheeky Missy
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Comments5
Adieu l'Emile je t'aimais bien
Adieu l'Emile je t'aimais bien, tu sais ...
Excellent write
A wonderful expression of the yearning we all have for things of no value. Time is so short and we look for what is not. Is it any wonder that we never find it? A wonderful poem
A very interesting and enjoyable read, Thank you
The carrot before the ass, hung just out of reach to keep him chasing forever what he never could attain. And yet we were born to run, but not in vain. Ergo the question begs the answer which is not so elusive as we like to claim. Beautifully rendered with a delightfully haunting poignancy and superb imagery.
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