Lakeside view, pelicans glide along the stillness of the water. Damp sea grass taints the delicate breeze. Little dog taps along, sniffing and snuffing questionable things. Clouds flow above, breaking every now and then to let the sun sneak through. Jet skis buzz whilst the boats do hum. Rolling hills ever varying shades of green. Sea birds squawk and squirm in-between their daily hunt. Lakeside view. Always a tantalising scene you be.
Tag: observation
salt & sand
Salt tangled hair-
damp bathers cling against skin.
The seat-belts metal tongue leaves a scalding imprint.
Grains of sand dabble throughout the car.
Bare feet scatter across sun drenched asphalt.
Fish and chips linger within the ocean breeze.
Seagulls beg and pine for a chip or two.
Ice-cream seeps along sunburnt arms.
Sun shies away upon the horizon.
Such a day comes to an end-
as the waves calm towards the night.
sculpted civilisation
Chiselled sculptures-
cracked faces.
Crowded channels.
Fallen fragments-
of what was.
Occupied scenarios-
unsolicited control.
Foundations cracked.
Faded faces.
Fragmented times.
#6 Stream of Consciousness
If we heard the world like we hear music, would we be so self absorbed? The sound of fear? ears would bleed. Screams echoing….echoing in ours speakers. Brainwashing. Repetition, constantly recycled, forever scrolling, moments blurry, missed memories forever haunting. Kindness? Barely. Self-entitled prima donnas. Hands over eyes, phones half way down our throats, choking, suffocating on these likes and hearts and everything in-between. We have been designed for this, slowly, slowly moulded to fit inside a square, always rated, always judged, right from when we were just bubs. If you don’t match? You’re outmatched. predisposition to failure. Human instinct out the window, failure will seep in.
Avail
Sleepy shadows slither silently slow.
Through thundering tunnels-
an alienating atmosphere-
aggressively alone.
Hollowed hearts hide haphazardly.
Fear follows fractured faces.
Longing. Lonely. Lost liabilities.
Problems profound.
Searching souls, startle simplicity.
Revolutions ruthlessly rile rigid raigems.
Cultivating change.
No. 3. Stream of Conciousness.
Soft glow of phone, reflection in mirror. Dimly lit apocalypse. Chained in an ever encumbering stare. Always scrolling, never lonely. Sweet illusion, false idols, empty ideas. Money talks, faces made of plastic. Self absorbed, scripted alibis. Botox here. Botox there. Self-sacrifices are the norm for such a chance to remain a modern delusion.
TLEofCassie 