Civilization stumbles through reality now,
happy to be tepid though aspiring to real warmth.
Polarized by fiction, paralyzed by contentedness,
believing it is now hated or never really adored.
Populated by powerless shadow selves, clobbered.,
colored by hope and rage, all air expelled,
bleak ambivalent minds cornered by thin voices.
Useless condolences of inexperience and innocence
scrolling up from the bottom, exaggerated
by the descending arpeggios of their fate.
Dried bones celebrating the skeleton of what?
Knees weak, shoulders slumped,
swords asleep in tired hands,
intelligent wipers scrubbing dry glass.
Descartes error; think but not necessarily am,
repeated well into monopoly.
Life and death curiously shake hands
at the horizontal waterfall of wasted time
created almost entirely by awake dreaming.
Pathetic palming, not knocking, on heaven’s door,
sleepwalking toward the pine box, slightly squinting.
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Author:
Dan Williams (
Offline) - Published: April 11th, 2026 01:51
- Comment from author about the poem: Endless repeated editing hasn't helped, here it is.
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 15
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Friendship, Tristan Robert Lange
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Comments3
Beautiful wording here casts an elusive shadow. Very nicely done
Well written
Dan, this really stays with me…that sense of a world just kind of sliding along, aware but not awake. The imagery keeps circling that same feeling…effort, motion, thought…all there, but something essential missing. That horizontal waterfall idea just ties it all together. Beautifully done. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
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