Neon lights flash,
they blind me,
the resultant spots in my vision,
they annoyingly swim.
I rub my glassy eyes softly,
then harder to rid them
of the itching glare,
I do not understand their mission.
Why did I seek this vision,
this stirring sight that promised exultation,
the monumental awareness I felt
while seeking out a personal heaven?
Yet, I witness here the malevolent view,
streets lined with barrages of
bustling men and women,
rows, two by two,
their presentation hauntingly beautiful,
but they are too busy and
self-absorbed to recognize their beauty,
a truly wasted picture.
The neon lights share the preference of this world,
showy, elaborate, garish, flashing,
new, never old.
I had sought these sights for I had been told of them
by whispering souls,
go forth, go forth,
find the bright lights,
absorb the intrinsically spectacular environment,
but there was nothing here to learn.
Many who voyaged here became cemented
into a mold,
unable to be freed,
to seek their flight.
They are in a land untoward,
yet perfect for some others,
where not even the winter of June
could freeze out the intent
of lustrous stars and lights
and all that such promised fame entailed.
Naught of this is heaven sent,
this mission ends,
my search curtailed.
© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Barbara Jackson from Pixabay
Return to All Posts