She gave to him a stained-glass love
That looked so good in light so pure,
But that turned cold within the dark
And closing of the door.
But other men still envy him
The beauty he resides within;
But they don’t the love he knows
That involves neither heart
Nor skin
You’re just a dad for show
That’s all you ever effing were:
Pretending that you care
So much about both him and her
No you cannot be bothered
When they each need you to be you —
But put on some performance when
You think
People
Can see you
Twixt image and reality
The difference is stark —
For one is made of flashbulbs,
The other from
The dark
When looks are all you want,
They’re all you get
We usually take
The image for
The reality,
Because
Our eyes can
Take in images,
Whereas our minds
Can’t take in
Realities
When we can’t change our lives,
We can always change our clothes
Pretending they are the same thing
On the other hand,
Playing dress-up and pretend
Are among our more honorable pursuits
In the end, though,
It’s just us, being us,
And trying to look as good as we can
Doing it —
Envying the handsome boys
And the skinny girls
And whoever else we choose to
Focus our resentment upon —
Or,
If we a comfortable enough within ourselves,
We can just appreciate people for who they are
And what they are good at
There, the perfect life:
The days of beauty, and of youth —
When you believe the image
Then you never know the truth
No matter where you look,
No matter what you think you see:
Each human life is full
Of misstep, hurt, and misery —
So, you see someone now who has
The whole world on a plate;
But do not see them in the night
Alone, disconsolate
There, in perfect youth,
Whate’er the problems, they’ll be small —
When you believe the image
You won’t see the truth
At all
She never thought this life would be for her.
And she’s not sure about it, even now:
Twixt what we earn, and what we watch occur,
There’s much to figure out, and plumb, somehow —
She barely eats, she shows up for the shoots,
She passive waits for makeup, hair, and clothes;
The checks all clear, though, and she works as suits
Her preference for layouts or for shows —
And men are plenty; they’re most everywhere,
But guys she meets, they never quite connect:
And she keeps busy, flying here and there,
Just like tonight – as she stands there, bedecked,
She thinks, “It’s what I dreamed of, fervently,
But is this really where I want to be?…”
Perhaps we need to see, and know, the high, uncounted cost of all our imagery. For much we think perfection is not gift, but theft.
© Andriy Bezuglov | Dreamstime.com – Girl with tablet
The world is full of choice
Between “what matters” and “what seems” —
To speak into existence, or
To hanker after dreams
To watch the perfect bodies go
Between venetian blinds,
And let the world of imagery
Just eat away
Our minds
© Andriy Bezuglov | Dreamstime.com – Couple of surfers on ocean`s shore
