Open your arms,
open your eyes
but do not always believe
the touch, the sight,
truth’s flame cornered by the night,
we tread down our paths
with care, with fright.
Our monitors burn bright
with toys and guns,
to plastic banks we run
for that rush in our minds
leaving reason behind; while
admen conjure more ads,
more signs.
Every spark painted-on CGI
every brand-name trademark
displayed before the eye,
bowing deep into receipts
piled haystack-high,
we’re not quite tall enough
for that one last ride,
to ebay we bid good-bye.
Oct 4, 2011
Oct 4, 2011 at 10:25 PM UTC
Open your arms,
open your eyes
but do not always believe
the touch, the sight,
truth’s flame cornered by the night,
we tread down our paths
with care, with fright.
Our monitors burn bright
with toys and guns,
to plastic banks we run
for that rush in our minds
leaving reason behind; while
admen conjure more ads,
more signs.
Every spark painted-on CGI
every brand-name trademark
displayed before the eye,
bowing deep into receipts
piled haystack-high,
we’re not quite tall enough
for that one last ride,
to ebay we bid good-bye.
Published Nov. 2010, National Gallery of Writing, National Council of Teachers of English
©2010 – Dan Schell
Request permission to use this poem