The television speaks in code
In a language immeasurably low
Like a competitive humming
Vibrating from the inside out
This conscious exhalation
A paranoia born of consequence
As if they’re all watching me
Waiting for the resignation
That comes before the night
When the mix of color and light
Play hide and seek in shadows
Bleak with misunderstanding
Lost to the passage of time
These characters on stage
Standing on their marks
Waiting for me to react
To give them a satisfaction
That is impossible to fake
With a wall of glass between
Their version of reality
And my complacency of soul
Fractured by a dangerous mystique
A chance for redemption
Amidst the sharpening haze
Of well-constructed dialogue
In a world of two dimensions
Threatening to break free
But time is never quite as linear
As we convince ourselves it is
While the background moves ahead
And we stand still
Watching it pass.
Sam
Sam's Online Journal 