I Don’t Want to Skype.
I can’t smell your hair.
I can’t feel your body’s warmth,
Or your tender kiss on my head.
Your energy, your hormones are gone.
You’re just a blurry picture,
Teasing me with feeling
But really you’re just a picture,
Not you.
I Don’t Want to Facebook.
I can’t hear your voice,
Feel your breath.
Typos and commas
Lack the feeling in a human voice.
Your pictures are old and distorted,
Not you at this moment.
They capture the you of yesterday,
In love with someone else.
Not you.
Making two days a lifetime,
Making me forget who you are.
Remind me that you’re still you.
D
Stamped silhouettes wander into foreign doors
To risk pride and security in hope of sincerity,
Blindly trusting their own wit and luck
To guide their fear towards charity.
This is how we grew,
Wandering out of our secluded Grange,
Into the vast and reticent marshes.
Now we have conquered these lands.
Our shadows have passed over,
Our reflections shown on every surface.
Now this is our Grange, a simple comfort.
So the journey guides us.
Do we remember where we began,
How fascinated and confounded we were?
Into the marshes, the souls creep daringly,
Their forms defined with each new reflection.
They might still recognize themselves, yet
There