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...