Static

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 – β€˜when nothing seen is tragic’ – love that line! What a great poem.

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.