Brief Encounter


Brief Encounter

I peeped into the past this afternoon,

left the sun’s bright smile for the grey drizzle

of a Winter, gabardine garbed and smoke

soaked. I stood on the station ramp under

the yellow light and watched the misery.

from here, the dreary scene of passive shame

takes a smaller place in the drama now –

the respectable doctor has become

a predator, a manipulative

abuser of power and dreams. The housewife

is angry and trapped, the husband stupid

and complacent. The story is deceit;

a halo is held around the struggle

for virtue, that in the clear crystal light

of our sophistication earns a wry

patronising smile. Now we hug dark lies

that are nurtured in the human struggle

and hover between scorn and sentiment.

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About Ben Naga

The Spirit that graces me with its passing has no name and stems not from thoughts and words, though it gathers them up as it flows, but from feeling.

Posted on April 22, 2019, in Poem - Not Written By Me Though, Poetry, Reposted from elsewhere. Bookmark the permalink. 6 Comments.

  1. A very powerful observation of society.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. It’s very beautiful despite this, but then so is much that is tragedy.

    Well constructed Ben.

    – Esme Cloud nodding through the station smoke

    Liked by 1 person

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