Patience

I thought I'd smash some glass,
spill some liquid,
so I clicked it, clicked it.
But the bottle was not tangible,
though before my eyes
in three dimensions
it was flat as paper.

Only static rises,
so it is never wind
that blows your hair.
Plastic progress
masks the faces of
unnecessary despair.

What tastes remain in your pixels?
Your pockets of MSG delicacies?
Your dunce assimilation and mind-ache?
Breathing silly soundbites,
broadcasting solutions
to the vast ocean of
immediate me, my and mine:
Shackles for time
in mirrors.

Only static rises,
so it is never wind
that blows your hair.
Plastic progress
masks the faces of
unnecessary despair.

All who take part
are lost in mirrors,
but somewhere,
somebody is still breathing
and should write their breath
with ink and paper
and truly commit
in the truth that
there is some freedom in patience.

A poem I wrote about Patience, roughly 3 years ago. I did something Bluesy to go with this poem... 

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