Faces rush past me
As I journey through the
World, which tells me we're
Both moving and yet I feel
So still. Like I'm looking
Through a window, a prison's
One-way glass reversed—
You'd think it'd be a welcome
Break, to have the tables
Turned. But the opposite
Proves true as all your taunts
Fall on deaf ears and the
Novelty dies fast;
Makes you feel so very cursed.
Your conscience preaches
Optimism and
Convinces you to just
Sit back, relax, to
Enjoy the show and
For some time you are absorbed;
Become just another
Face, with some sentence
IDentity, and adopt
A valid pace and a
Hint of some normality.
But then video files start
Looping and audio invades
Your mind, whispers to you
Secrets from the writer's weary mind.
And the mysticism broken,
You return to reality.
Where you scratch the world
Into the walls,
Tired life falling away
And pooling on the floor,
As the patterns form
And coincide and
Balance oh, so delicately in
Disorganised Chaos.

Some people stand so still,

Departed from time,

Lost in woven walls of

Sight and sound— our
Subtle attentions,
Ignorant actions. They
Are so pretty to look at,
Because the snarling

Lion, the goring bull,

The tempting lover

Can never touch us.

They are like us, yet

So unlike us, but

Somehow they manage
To fit in. Their eyes

Are piercing, their eyes

Coercing, sweetly

Calling me in silence.

And I pour my heart out

To what seem like endless

Frontiers, with unknown

Suns and kingdoms to

Come and the lack of

Matter does not matter

Because it is enough,[RP1]

To see them fly, away.[SAG2]

But what happens to these

Silent listeners, these

Oh so trusted confidants?

Just because they're full of

Stillness does not make them

Statues, still[SAG3] . We do not see

The statues weeping,

We do not see the

Statues' tears, falling

Into limbo's chaos

Of forgotten thoughts;

Forgotten fears. The

Feelings we shower

Without a care, they

Erode, they destroy.

They cause disrepair

And make statues stare

At the world's shining

Ruins, the world's epic

Neglect, for the fact

That the little things

Are important, things

Like atoms, like words,

Periodicals[SAG4] ; surds.

The unknowable

Intangible grains

Of form, which are all

A statue can know.

[RP1]Do you think I should remove this comma?

[SAG2]I really like this sentence

[SAG3]Lovely alliteration halts us on the static meaning
Is it good that it halts?

[SAG4]It was a misspelling, it's periodicals