Poem: Dead Stares – 18/12/19

 Dead eyes stare beyond the fronds,
 dead dead dead.
 Their pupils are like empty saucers,
 entrances into another 
 vacuous underworld. 
  
 Knock knock on their doors,
 your fist will rap,
 triple tap, 
 tap, tap, 
 the entrances somehow welcome us,
 they gather our motivations somehow.
  
 Hear the lashes rustling as 
 eyelids mechanically blink,
 lubricating their glassy stares 
 as the mood sinks
 and sinks.
  
 We are afforded a means into their world
 assume nothing of their histories,
 their recorded images will show;
 they will detail.
  
 Knock knock blink blink,
 knock blink blink, 
 how many combinations can we make
 before the crux of the problem 
 reveals itself?
 The need to open our own eyes to 
 self-contemplation?
  
 I’ll observe them through the fronds
 as they carelessly observe me,
 obfuscate the glass though
 I’ll live with their means to 
 mechanically dream.
  
 They are unfeeling,
 they are anything but all knowing,
 they are everything and anything 
 they wish to be,
 but they will never penetrate 
 the outer shell which encompasses 
 all that is me.
  
 I am protected by my own glassiness,
 perils shall not befall me.
  
 © 2019 Lauren M. Hancock 
also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.
  

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