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all from a call centre
Contributed by
lostrelic
on
Tuesday, 13th September 2005 @ 06:27:09 PM in AEST
Topic:
abstract
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hollowed heart surrounded by thorns of dead roses
empty eyes staring into a darkened void
empty screams echo through my mind
sitting at my desk wasting my time
silver staples blind my eyes as call after call
unhappy complaints all in the name of entertainment
their minds are free their t.v. has stopped
but they do not see the joy of outside
how can someone miss life with no cable
are they missing their daily feed of hate
is there not enough sex and violence from the window
is society spirialing to the endless commerical
all this i see from my screen
as the ability to free millions from their cable chains
torments me so
Copyright ©
lostrelic
... [
2005-09-13 18:27:09]
(Date/Time posted on
site)
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Re: all from a call centre
(User Rating: 1 )
by Former_Member on
Saturday, 17th September 2005 @ 09:14:28 PM AEST
(User
Info | Send
a Message)
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*****how can someone miss life with no cable
are they missing their daily feed of hate
is there not enough sex and violence from the window
is society spirialing to the endless commerical
I enjoyed the entire poem. It has so much visability. It made me think of the world now as I see it through that window, our mind, which we might have forgotten to look out of.
If every tv set was turned off, no cable for it or PC, or even a radio, would we begin to walk down the street again, stop to talk to our neighbors, notice flowers in gardens.
The excuse is, we have these things in order to keep people in jobs, making money.
Are we missing out of any kind of beautiful life when we used to visit family, friends, sharing meals together, talking about uncle freds biggest fish he caught last saturday. Playing cards at the table, trusting a win of neighbor Joes wife to give us a slice of her tasty 3 layered chocolate cake.
Probably if we did not have a tv or radio, or PC, we would all be in the dark for a while. It would not be long before we would all be out picnicking again, sharing the work load with neighbors as the leaves build sky high on our front lawns.
This is a type of poem that really brings it on home. Hollow hearts, dead roses .. a shame... there is so much in this world to see and to know, and to do, we have not even made a dent yet, or at least I have not.
Raquel Leah :D
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