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| picture source: https://za.pinterest.com/pin/375909900138806551/ |
Have you ever sat back, struck by a sensation, surreal in nature,
a sense of ‘so this is what it’s like to be a grown-up’,
one where it feels like you’re playing house,
that this life is not real, what’s before you is not real,
nothing you do or have done is real, it’s merely a dream,
and next time you blink you’ll find yourself in the backyard
of your parents’ house, hearing your name being called,
and it saddens me, life does not hold the promised joy,
bestow the alluded to freedom and pleasures,
does not follow the script painted to me when I was a child,
because emptiness echoes when you follow the proper groove,
what I want is to find magic, I want to find my soul.
Oh! yes, thus happens!!
ReplyDeleteIt isn't far. Just brilliantly disguised.
ReplyDeleteThere is longing for a simpler time here in this poem. It was really effective. Personally, I didn't enjoy my childhood, so being an adult is so much better for me. But, it's still surreal.
ReplyDeleteMy sister and I were just talking the other day.....said it in our prosaic style. "Life is not what we expected" with a wry smile a small shake of the head.....no it's not.
ReplyDeleteSometimes I wish grown up was a dream...
ReplyDeleteMy childhood was really bad until a teacher, Mr. Land, opened a dream.
ReplyDeleteI always wait for a surprise. Sometimes it takes awhile.
ReplyDeleteHave had the feeling that I'd hear my name called and turn and it would be my mom calling me in for supper.
ReplyDeleteTo find that magic is difficult, and yes I have felt like I have been in another world. I think we lose pieces of ourselves in the journey and we need to go back and reclaim what is ours.
ReplyDeleteGood luck in your quest :)
Wonderful! (wonder full)
ReplyDeleteEver since I realized that I am just another "Kaulquappe in the pond of life it put me in ma place ... Yes, there is magic ... even in the eyes of that stinking to heaven old beggar lady/ guy? that sits in front of The Bay Center every day ... Every morning I go and share one of my smokes with her/ him? ... and, boy, does she/he? ever stink ... anyway ... Love, cat.
ReplyDeleteSeek and ye shall find.
ReplyDelete