Bright horizons rise up
Over the broad, soothing,
Pixelated mountains.
A parse in the code wakes
And shivers under the
Blazingly cold sun.
Drifting clouds, silvered with
Pixels, flowing like a
River of neon lights.
The data streams above,
Dreamy and nostalgic,
Like quiet afternoons
Inside, listening to the
Cool, pattering rain tap
Gently at the window.
Dark clouds outside, stirring
With a roll of thunder,
And a screen, the music
Chimes gently in your mind.
Hums, chords, thrums, and a quiet,
Beckoning warmth, waving
Back through the pixel clouds
Under the pixel sun.
The colours blend with
The sweet taste of cola.
Salty crisps, shaken, bagged
And popped open at lunch.
Fresh tuna sandwiches,
The click of a cassette tape.
Unwrapped magazines.
Old smells mingle on your
Cool tongue. Lavender oil,
Peppermints in Winter,
Strawberries and cream. You
Feel the pixels in your
Pockets, like loose change.
Those soft chimes return still
To the old windowsill
In the light breeze. Each leaf
Its own story, washed in
Streams of pixels, flowing
Timid through the sky.
A bird tweets. The dreams stir
And fade into the clouds.
Softly lit, glowing sun,
Bathed in warm nostalgia.
Nobody really goes
To Earth, anymore.
A poem about nostalgia.
The final poem in the Distant Dystopia anthology.
© Lewis Hyden, 2018