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literature
Arcade Tokens
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Literature Text
The golden coin that strikes his empty pail,
Reflects his clear blue eyes as he laments,
That bank, so open to the elements,
And all its contents; savings doomed to fail.
Like flint on steel, that token spawns a spark.
He holds the treasure like his crumpled will;
Like driftwood on the sea, believing still,
He shall fulfill his own escape from dark.
As strangers pass, he polishes his prize,
With just the baggy shirt that forms his bed,
Lofty aspirations in his head,
And bright, ambitious red that cracks his eyes.
So eagerly, he wants to play the games,
With well-groomed people, laughing in the light.
His coin permits him to engage this rite;
A night where he pretends that he's the same.
But these two worlds could never be alike.
Reflects his clear blue eyes as he laments,
That bank, so open to the elements,
And all its contents; savings doomed to fail.
Like flint on steel, that token spawns a spark.
He holds the treasure like his crumpled will;
Like driftwood on the sea, believing still,
He shall fulfill his own escape from dark.
As strangers pass, he polishes his prize,
With just the baggy shirt that forms his bed,
Lofty aspirations in his head,
And bright, ambitious red that cracks his eyes.
So eagerly, he wants to play the games,
With well-groomed people, laughing in the light.
His coin permits him to engage this rite;
A night where he pretends that he's the same.
But these two worlds could never be alike.
The manifestation of a feeling that I've had for a few months now, one that I can't shake. My mood, combined with an idea that presented itself all-too-conveniently was the drive for this piece. My personal life likes to mess with me like that, give me symbols and see how I decipher them. At least, that's how it feels.
I hope people can figure out what I'm writing about, when I write about anything. Outright describing what the meaning of a poem is seems like a self-defeating action to me, to be honest. Even if it isn't the meaning I intended, my sincere wish is that people draw something significant from anything I create. To give the game away is to kill creativity in the audience, is how I see it.
I hope people can figure out what I'm writing about, when I write about anything. Outright describing what the meaning of a poem is seems like a self-defeating action to me, to be honest. Even if it isn't the meaning I intended, my sincere wish is that people draw something significant from anything I create. To give the game away is to kill creativity in the audience, is how I see it.
© 2012 - 2024 SuperStranger
Comments9
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I quite like this. It has a certain Grapes of Wrath edge to it. Very lucid in regard to meaning, I think, but brief enough that we can mentally embroider as we read to give it more personal meaning.
There is a line that gives me pause, though: "And bright, ambitious red that cracks his eyes". I feel like there is a reference here that I am missing. Why red, I guess, is what I wonder. Is there a significance to that I am missing?
There is a line that gives me pause, though: "And bright, ambitious red that cracks his eyes". I feel like there is a reference here that I am missing. Why red, I guess, is what I wonder. Is there a significance to that I am missing?