"promotion" poems - Hello Poetry

The distant park Was a graveyard of dead stars. Each streetlight a system of worlds, So many lives between each mote of light, Indistinguishable in their unique love, Bespoke hate, and the drama of the modern age. Drunk laughter behind transparent Double doors. Another hotel balcony, Another cloud behind the canopy Of marijuana eyes To unsettle me from the crowd. She points out, when you look closely You can see the disorder Amongst all constellations Of life and love and litter; Of discarded Coke cans And temporary highs. She says this is not a scene To imbue the ****** of a present mind, More to baulk at the incompletion Of one thousand to-do lists; A million reasons why You should just stay inside. She says you can see the human swell Of ignorance, our city lights Blotting out the stars In a black ocean of broken politic And irretrievable fault lines- Divisions between us all. Lives twisted with professional smiles And eyes lit with stunning indifference. Still, I have felt charity and warmth On the doorstep of lunatics and fascists. I have read the love of life In faces of those who gave up. I have recounted countless artists Who saw beauty In moments that precisely lacked it. I have spent too many nights In anaesthesia, Fleeing each instance of feeling And terror; all the tremors That tell me I am still alive. Continued to stare at the lights Long after her voice And the laughter inside had gone. Heard waves in the traffic. A world so large, so expansive, It can never truly sleep. Every broken heart, Every war-torn land, Every promotion, Every one-night stand. I wonder what would happen If we all stood still. If we all took one moment To observe the motion That unfolds beneath Our static windowsill. If we all took one moment To recover our loss. The wars that we won, The feelings, forgot. The hell we retain; Our paradise, lost.

0

Feb 6, 2017

Feb 6, 2017 at 11:07 AM UTC

Edward-Coles

Windowsill

The distant park Was a graveyard of dead stars. Each streetlight a system of worlds, So many lives between each mote of light, Indistinguishable in their unique love, Bespoke hate, and the drama of the modern age. Drunk laughter behind transparent Double doors. Another hotel balcony, Another cloud behind the canopy Of marijuana eyes To unsettle me from the crowd. She points out, when you look closely You can see the disorder Amongst all constellations Of life and love and litter; Of discarded Coke cans And temporary highs. She says this is not a scene To imbue the ****** of a present mind, More to baulk at the incompletion Of one thousand to-do lists; A million reasons why You should just stay inside. She says you can see the human swell Of ignorance, our city lights Blotting out the stars In a black ocean of broken politic And irretrievable fault lines- Divisions between us all. Lives twisted with professional smiles And eyes lit with stunning indifference. Still, I have felt charity and warmth On the doorstep of lunatics and fascists. I have read the love of life In faces of those who gave up. I have recounted countless artists Who saw beauty In moments that precisely lacked it. I have spent too many nights In anaesthesia, Fleeing each instance of feeling And terror; all the tremors That tell me I am still alive. Continued to stare at the lights Long after her voice And the laughter inside had gone. Heard waves in the traffic. A world so large, so expansive, It can never truly sleep. Every broken heart, Every war-torn land, Every promotion, Every one-night stand. I wonder what would happen If we all stood still. If we all took one moment To observe the motion That unfolds beneath Our static windowsill. If we all took one moment To recover our loss. The wars that we won, The feelings, forgot. The hell we retain; Our paradise, lost.