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Click hereA pariah in perfection,
only headphones and no headlight.
Clinging anchored to that corner,
fallen stalemate out of stage fright.
Take a seat, majestic mourner,
dim that light to pale reflection,
until everything succumbs to
anti-social rejection.
Have you found your prime objective,
elevating through the clutter?
To that holier-than-heaven
that will send your soul aflutter.
But the holier is hollow,
it will bring no heart attraction,
and the heaven right beside you
is the yield of interaction.
but without the rhythm and flow of 2. The first line is fantastic, but later
"...until everything succumbs to
anti-social rejection."
got to feeling a little forced. I think this one fell into the telling not showing routine. Overall the poem works, but lacks the sparkle of 2...
jim : )