Sacrificial semantics, cardiac romantics, bred into generational poetic descriptives
I am the result of ancestral language, yielding powerful Tenochca dynamics

Who scraped away the dust of the moon and bled tangerine into the sunrise
Blanketed by riveting time, my leaders soured through chaos and sculpted pantomime
An humble cry revealed craters in the sky and hailed reflections amongst the horizon

Who wielded away the iron of the sun and hemorrhaged into the darkness
A pulsating, heartless rhythm that distinguished an iron hand to honorable freedoms

Sacrificial semantics, cardiac romantics, bred into generational poetic descriptives
I am the result of ancestral language, yielding powerful Tenochca dynamics

Some sit on a pile of books
Not knowing the worth of their seat
Not knowing that the paper holds the tongues of a thousand souls
They sit on their bright future
If only their legs could read

I love the warm smell more than baked bread.
I love the old stories flooding back through my head.
I love the middle-age chatter, with child like mutters,
finding old favorites in old familiar covers.

I love the personalised fountain-penned message,
carefully scribed and meticulously dated.
I don't care about the number of dog eared pages,
or the tell-tale signs of well worn aging.

Tea stains and small tears - they don't bother me,
each tell a new tale beyond what I can see.
I love the weight of the years sitting in my hand,
I love the tether to past lives multi-second-hand.

With memories of libraries with warm worn carpets,
wall to wall adventures and sun faded artists,
battered yellow seats, shooshed conversations,
quietly spoken protests at the books being rationed.

I stayed past closing, riding trains of free thought
with Tin Tin, Asterix and old Mrs Pepperpot.
I'm still drawn to the pages and the feeling inside
second-hand stories where memories reside.

Here you are again
Even further away

Notice how I gained control
Over your mind, your body and your soul

Focus is lost as eyes are wandering
You seem entertained yet lost
How come you are here
Not there or anywhere

One glimpse was enough,I know
The small red dot stole the show

Turn it all off, remove all the noise
Turn off your eyes and use your voice

Because now is today
And tomorrow is forever

That's why every distraction
Requires a pointless interaction

©SEHO | http://www.seho.site

Can you read me enough to know?
I guess not.

I've worked too ******* this mask to let you..

This mask of strenght.

To you I'm strong, a role model even..

Truth is, I'm weak.
Behind closed doors I'm broken, too broken for life.

I need someone to save me.

Yet no one knows..

Still I hope,
for someone to see the real me.