Typing Cicadas

I wear self imposed blinders everyday

Reassurances meant to block out all uncertainties

Dreams of better kept out by the darkness of security

I cannot witness the dark side of not knowing

But neither can I be tempted by sumptuous paths of possibility

Occasionally the blinders slip, and I panic

Struggling to put them back on, I unwisely look around

The deft silence is the first thing I notice

Interrupted by staccato taps that drone into infinity

The sort of quiet nothing that creeps into your bones

Seeps through your pores and fills you

Any sound is a sharp intrusion

But also the sweetest of distractions

A momentary reminder that yes, we are alive

Blinking dead lights with shallow blues

Bounce off my face and dry my eyes

Around me my 3 walls are filled with servitude

With sheets of white spelling out my every action

Promising that here there will be no free thought

I stand, because I can no longer bear to sit

And I look around me at the other would be horses

Blinders affixed tight to their brows

Staring forward at their blinking lights

Echoing words to say they all feel the way I do

Without ever showing the symptoms

This is just how it is, I can hear them say

Empty words I’ve spewed myself

Anything to keep one from looking at the empty hole inside

To know that this is your future

As far flung as you can see, it is all you know

My neighbors ease up slightly out of their seat as I stand

Just the barest of excitement turning us into little gophers

Desperate for words from another human

Anything to stop the droning silence

Meaningless, empty forays into human commune

We sink back into our small prisons

Affix again the blinders

And like little cicadas

We fill the air with our droning taps

 

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