From the Outside, In

How much these aching eyes,
Lust for sights before them.
Glistening in perfection,
Life's sweet glow captures my gaze.
Distant dreams and sounds,
Full of silent taunts,
As I stand here alone,
A stranger looking out.

The actors play their roles,
Living dreams before me.
Played to perfection,
The ache to join them runs deep.
Flutters of winds drift past,
Bringing with them scents,
Of flowers in bloom,
As I stand here alone,
A stranger looking out.

My invisible cage,
Anchors me to the spot.
Trapped in perfection,
A prisoner in life's idillicy.
Forgotten moments,
Imprint deep inside,
As I stand here alone,
A stranger looking out.

Sculpted Emptiness (A Magpie-Inspired Tale)

Strange present.

Sat on my desk.

Don't really know what it does.

Or how it came to pass,

That this was the perfect choice,

For a friend to give me.

I don't get it.

The abstract shapes.

Sat there, starting at me.

As though I should read deeply,

Into the smooth black form,

Like a mistake from the clay room.

Cold to touch.

I run my fingers over.

Shiny surface curling round them.

Strange protrusions.

Why would you put them there?

Feeling lost in semantics.

Feeling guilt.

Creeping from behind my ears.

As the black, hollow form

Repulses me so very much.

Surely I've just missed the point?

Or even the smooth rounded end?

This poem was inspired by the intriguing photo prompt at Magpie Tales.