Musings by The Poet Loriet
S.A.D.
Sight-seeing,
they glance at the window dressing--
{Perfection!} "they" exclaim!
Look deeper, I beg,
past the ornate displays.
There are fine cracks
adorning the windows.
They only look smooth
from a distance.
Look closely
as the sun's blighted ovum
reflects glaringly.
The sun, by the way,
is all wrong today--
a garish pink flamingo,
an eyesore-
flying amidst dreary landscape
of an Illinois winter day.
I want to scream--
Oh, please, look deeper!
Things are out of place here;
dust thinly veiled
under delicate lace,
wrinkles and lines
caked under porcelain makeup,
alligator skin
underneath
Nautica For Women's
luxurious lotion--
Don't you know?
Silky smooth
is always an illusion.
Look deeper.
I'm begging you now!
Don't tell me
I'm not entitled
to my own feelings.
I own them,
my life is NOT perfect.
That's really
what I'm trying to say here.
Can you hear me?
Idealism
is only a game
people play
to keep fooling themselves.
We were taught early--
You have to pay for broken windows.
The proverbial pot of gold
is merely smoke and mirrors,
shadows in our midst.
Isn't it crystal clear?
Virginia, there is NO Santa Claus,
no fairy godmothers
willing to whisk you away
from everyday doldrums,
and get you GONE
to the fantasy ball--
no money to be laid under pillows
for chipped teeth or broken dreams,
and definitely no knights to slay fiery dragons,
rescuing distressed damsels--
My friends,
as surely as Hell exists,
there is no rainbow
that you can bottle,
take in pill form
(or by imbibing illicit substances)
in order to "make it all better."
Healing comes from within.
Broken shards of glass
might cut through layers,
resulting in bloodshed--
Go ahead; shatter the illusion.
Dive deep--It will be "okay."
I'll wait right here
to help you pick up the pieces.
Lori Beal
they glance at the window dressing--
{Perfection!} "they" exclaim!
Look deeper, I beg,
past the ornate displays.
There are fine cracks
adorning the windows.
They only look smooth
from a distance.
Look closely
as the sun's blighted ovum
reflects glaringly.
The sun, by the way,
is all wrong today--
a garish pink flamingo,
an eyesore-
flying amidst dreary landscape
of an Illinois winter day.
I want to scream--
Oh, please, look deeper!
Things are out of place here;
dust thinly veiled
under delicate lace,
wrinkles and lines
caked under porcelain makeup,
alligator skin
underneath
Nautica For Women's
luxurious lotion--
Don't you know?
Silky smooth
is always an illusion.
Look deeper.
I'm begging you now!
Don't tell me
I'm not entitled
to my own feelings.
I own them,
my life is NOT perfect.
That's really
what I'm trying to say here.
Can you hear me?
Idealism
is only a game
people play
to keep fooling themselves.
We were taught early--
You have to pay for broken windows.
The proverbial pot of gold
is merely smoke and mirrors,
shadows in our midst.
Isn't it crystal clear?
Virginia, there is NO Santa Claus,
no fairy godmothers
willing to whisk you away
from everyday doldrums,
and get you GONE
to the fantasy ball--
no money to be laid under pillows
for chipped teeth or broken dreams,
and definitely no knights to slay fiery dragons,
rescuing distressed damsels--
My friends,
as surely as Hell exists,
there is no rainbow
that you can bottle,
take in pill form
(or by imbibing illicit substances)
in order to "make it all better."
Healing comes from within.
Broken shards of glass
might cut through layers,
resulting in bloodshed--
Go ahead; shatter the illusion.
Dive deep--It will be "okay."
I'll wait right here
to help you pick up the pieces.
Lori Beal
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S.A.D.
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