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Christian Simon Nov 2020
A lifetime of growing old;
Always looking back:
Motown, Northern Soul,
Joy Division, Happy Mondays.
No time for the new.
There is nothing new.
Put the tune on
Stop my brain thinking for 128 seconds.

French Nouvelle Vague,
Hong Kong suave.
If the past is a foreign country,
I want to buy a house there.
2 steps forward
3 steps back
Always looking back.

Miss the future
Recreating the past.
Progress turns to static.
The future is another planet
And I'm scared of space.
Moving forward in life
But always looking back
Christian Simon Nov 2020
The controller in my hand.
The power of life and death
In my fingers.
An imaginary world:
Somehow more brutal than this;
Somehow more entrancing than this.
Somehow, somehow.
A minute gone,
An hour,
A day.
A lifetime
Or enjoyed?

Virtual friends
Living virtual lives.
Scared to open the shutters,
Scared of the sunlight.
Smoke hangs in the air;
A nourishing vapour.
(Despite best efforts)
Reality becomes a backseat driver
Lurking in the background
Impossible to ignore.
Christian Simon Oct 2020
In the TV screen,
I see a reflection of who I want to be.
In the mirror,
I see a reflection of who I don't
In your eyes,
I see a reflection of who I can be.
But in my mind,
I fear I won't
Christian Simon Sep 2020
The Gargoyle on the roof.
How far you've come,
Without moving an inch.
Always there;
Often unseen.
Standing steadfast,
but time and the elements
Will always chip away.

The Gargoyle on the roof:
Sometimes small,
Sometimes large.
It will make itself known one day
When it finally flies but
Is found to be frozen in stone.
Tumbling, tumbling down
To hit the ground
And shatter
Or will it be saved
From it's terminal fall
By my unsuspecting brain?
Will I be the one
Who shatters?
Christian Simon Sep 2020
The sunflower reaches up:

Tall and proud

Vainly striving to reach the sky:

A Sisyphean task.

For the wind batters;

Bruises as it nears.

Faces forced to bow.

Stems snapped like broken backs.

Nevertheless, they still believe.

Winter comes: a forced retreat.

Petals wither and fall.

Reduced, reused, recycled.

No longer of interest

To bees, birds and we

Who only see the first

Flush of beauty.

Returned unto the soil.

— The End —