What is this world, this silence?
The cracked paint on flaking walls
The still spiders clutching to the beams.
How can we live, in this hell-world?
In the still cream rooms, modernist
With no touch and no human and no life.
When the dusty tomes of prose and poetry
Lie, fading slowly, by the walls and creak
And when there is no patter of little feet.
When we are bored and sick of this
Modernistic, futuristic house, this false home,
How can we dream? How can we be?
Nice poem... why apologize? It's not your fault... You're only reflecting... Terry
A good description of our modern world and its lack of character and quality. Great write George, enjoyed reading.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The idiocy and mundane falseness of today's world leaves little to be desired. That's why we poets must imagine and write what we see in our poetical minds so the rest of the world can have hope in a better, unstifled society, full of life and adventure. Love your poem. Dark can be good because it makes us appreciate the light that much more. Thank you for sharing. RoseAnn