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LC Apr 2021
for a split second,
the TV screen turned red,
followed by a shrill beep.
it was a small glitch,
too small to be noticeable,
so the television stayed.

the longer she watched it,
the more often it turned red,
the longer the high-pitched beep.
but she could never predict
when the glitch would happen,
and she waited for it to be normal.

eventually, she adjusted
to a perpetually red screen
and an irritating, shrill hum
until her friend came in,
asking why the screen was red
and where the noise was coming from.

she brushed it off,
claiming it was a glitch.
the screen stayed that way,
and the hum persisted.
her eyes slowly became weary,
and her ears started ringing.

her friend took her away.
her eyes and ears got a break,
and she saw a different screen,
one of many colors, showing life
in its beautiful and tragic moments.
she heard vivid, rich, musical voices.

she went back to her television,
exhausted, trying in vain to fix it,
but it would not change,
no matter how hard she tried.
questions bloomed in her mind
until it suddenly dawned on her.

this was never a glitch.
it was a complete malfunction.
her heart and head were pounding
as she held an antenna to her chest.
it weighed her arms down,
but she threw it across the room.

it crashed into the television,
and the screen went black.
the hum stopped, and all was quiet
except for her loud breathing.
she wept as relief washed over her
and she lay down, content at last.
#escapril day 21! I would love to hear what you think this poem is about.
Our complexity is what we think
separates us from everyone else,
our vivid dreams seem so different
yet ultimately meant to collapse into one.
Random thoughts for a crowd-less world.
LC Apr 2021
a person with a mind and soul
made of colorful, vivid ribbons
quietly walks through the world.
she expects to feel the warmth
of their smiles on her face.
their eyes softly crinkle
when they're with each other.
when they walk toward her,
they grimace - every single time.
their voices fade until
she can only hear the sound
of her loud breathing,
feel the chill in the air,
and blink the tears away.
#escapril day 6!
Ripples in the water
Roses in the bush
Rainbow views
Raindrops and *****
Remedies for the soul
Reminiscing,
Relaxing times
Reflecting, wishing
**** Red dress
Revitalised mind, richly defined
Take me there...
Another one off the cuff, with some inspiration from irthlingborough lakes.
I dream so vividly
That reality forgets where its edges lay
And the physical sensation
Lingers on my skin.
Hubbiya Nov 2020
I want ink,
No, I need them
With vivid colours,
To highlight the life
And show them the beauty,
Of the life to be lived.
Things that might be keeping me awake,
These tiring nights
Hypnotic dreams making connections,
Way beyond my comprehension.

Are they meant to keep you on your path?
Or grow out of it and fly above the clouds?
An illusion of control?
Or a way to fulfil your soul?

Perplexed at those vivid pictures,
Of places and people left behind
Maybe sometimes just stuck in your mind,
Turning me into a beast of burden.

Wake up from my somnambulism
To find me back in bed
With sunken eyes, holding my head
No meaning to this pretence.

A lullaby went wrong,
A state of trance
A voice inside my head,
Speaking to me like I still had a chance.

'I know you know your pain,
Here's a ticket to hop on that train
The path is treacherous with mist all around,
But have faith, you are heaven bound'

Till the morning comes and the sun is shining bright
Still ******* in my fictitious knots,
I wake up from the slumber
Realizing it's not up to me to join the dots.

Was never great at reading signs
Been living with these feelings somehow,
At the end of the tunnel, there's a light that shines
Time to face the music now.
Oh dreams, what are you?
Coming every night,
Most of the times I don't even remember
Is it good news or bad?
All I know is I need you
For where the world would be,
Without people who had dreams and acted upon them.
annh Aug 2020
I closed my eyes against the mortal limitations of this world and settled back to watch reruns of my youth. Discouragement and dissatisfaction gave way to golden hours and glory days, depicted in vivid technicolour and accompanied by a flugelhorn fandango.
‘No story is the same to us after a lapse of time; or rather we who read it are no longer the same interpreters.’
- George Eliot
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