by

Diorama.

I count the many drawn-out days,

pass through this feebly clinging brain,

walk in the shine of a sun that is fake,

I exist in a time made of Paper Mache;

A tableau that depicts alternate ways,

the many varying twists and turns of my days,

the illusion of a normalcy frozen in place,

the gentlest wind blows the facade away;

the wheeling of paper-thin figures that blow,

from the set of this warm and fuzzy side-show,

the diorama scene that rips, and tears and folds,

beneath my fingertips as I fight to keep my hold;

the pieces burn and sizzle in my palm as hot as coal.

 

15 thoughts on “Diorama.”

  1. Americana Injustica says:
    October 17, 2016 at 7:20 PM

    Reblogged this on Americana Injustica.

    Like

    Reply
  2. Thomas Irving says:
    November 18, 2015 at 3:16 PM

    =P

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply
  3. charliezero1.wordpress.com says:
    November 18, 2015 at 1:49 PM

    My favorite lines:

    I exist in a time made of Paper Mache;
    A tableau that depicts alternate ways,

    You have nailed this poem right in my vision.
    Love it! The strength of this poem really paints great visuals and emotions.

    Really, though, I love this poem a lot.

    🙂

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

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