Broken lenses,
spilling untold emotions,
like a blurry Tuesday
polythene-d by haze
drips of water
running down
endless paths,
like desperate tears
rushing to hit a nerve.
My world is a catastrophe,
bereft of catharsis,
broken into cuticles and cartilage
I'm a new man,
formed from the frost,
I'm like the bubbles,
aimlessly flying in two's and three's
unruffled by the panic,
reeking in the wind.
They are the ones,
holding the camera,
like judges wielding gavels
clicking away,
in their omniscient
point-of-view.
Their tongues; clacking
as different pictures
in two's and ten's
comes out as jarring opinion.
Their world; my world
is an oxymoron
placed side by side.
They can't see,
their eyes are clustered,
like men with glaucoma,
strapped to the
back of their mind.
They do not know;
I'm a "Chernobyl" waiting to happen.
I have seen their smiles,
I have heard the thumping,
of their hearts.
Their eyes can tell,
a thousand stories,
sketch a million pieces,
but it cannot paint
a single feeling,
that glides through my soul
in the dead of the night.
They are the ones,
that drills the swords,
flash, blood and gore,
delivering the final blow,
hook, line and sinker
pain is like a gentle throbbing
to their stainless heart.
As they continue;
finding another victim,
to camp their assault.
Poetry Piece: Appraisal & Appreciation
Their World; My World is a colorful poem that effortlessly moved from the first person to the third person. I wrote this piece after some bashing experience i've had over the course of several weeks. The world of course is a judgmental place. Sometimes we embody the stress or the pain we go through.
There are times in our lives where our pain becomes visible, it's written on our body, it's evident in how people see us, but then a lot of people can become rather unreasonable, it's why I made a comparison with the allusion of a camera; in this allusion I stated that people who are at the back of the camera do not understand the pressure of being in the spotlight, exposed to so many flares and being expected to come out looking flawless.
The poem is purely metaphorical, as it talks deeply about sleepless nights; the experience of having a really terrible night, but needing to of course come out smiling in the morning.
The poem took an oxymoronic approach, especially with verse three. These days, people tend to talk or judge others without activating their perceptive filters or their conscience. This is where it talks about men with glaucoma in their mind. It was meant to paint a picture of mental blindness.
It's easier to be the judge, the jury and the executioner and in the poem, it vividly explained that the human travails are cyclical. Hence, we should rather learn the act of empathy as well as compassion. It's a realistic poem written in a reference to what reality now seem like nowadays. The poem didn't have a resolution. A sort of dénouement. It did end with a feeling of uncertainty hovering around it.
This means that the cycle is endless. The act of being judgmental seems imbued. The poem tried to create a contrast. A vivid picture of someone suffering as a result of the feedback their getting due to something perceived to be wrong with them.
All Images Owned By Me
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My name is @Josediccus, a young Nigerian entrepreneur who is a Vlogger, A Psychologist, Poet, Sports Writer/Analyst & Personal Finance Coach. I'm using my contents as a process to create shared meaning as well as create expressions through which people on/off hive can relate. I believe content is a process to be enjoyed and relished and I'm up for any collaborations in my field stated above. Cheers
@Josediccus, your brother-in-pen & heart
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