Life becomes a brittle thing
When facts have fractured magic
Light becomes a waning moon
When nothing seen is tragic

Movement is a needless thing
When all it breeds is havoc
Stillness manifests and grows
The seed becomes the addict

Time is such a strange mirage
When life is merely habit
Days and weeks evaporate
Like smoke, we’ll never grab it

Existence merely ebbs and flows
The rhythm, automatic
Truth and lies: a swarms of flies
A wave of growing static

12 thoughts on “Static

  1. How true it is these days that less and less of what we see is tragic – โ€˜when nothing seen is tragicโ€™ – love that line! What a great poem.

    Liked by 1 person

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