The world of mankind seems to me to be built upon a foundation of facades and collective fictions. Not all of these are sinister, of course. I have fictions to thank for government, economics, politics, law, all such amorphous castles in the clouds. Yet there exist mirages that lead us into deserts and wastelands where time flies past and meaning get sapped from one’s being. These mirages eventually shatter, leaving their victims alone in barren landscapes.
The following poems are part of a trilogy (at the moment) that seeks to examine these mirages, and how to break free from them. Fair warning, they’re pretty dark and kind of edgy, and I have to thank my periodic existential crises for that. But they each have a glimmer of hope at the end of the road, and I hope that shining light in the mist can help break the mirages that confound us.
- Talk (Mirage #1) – among my first poems, and the origin of the Mirage concept
- Affection (Mirage #2) – a look at fleeting infatuation
- Elysium (Mirage #3) – the world we live in
Talk (Mirage #1)
They listen, they laugh, they babble
about sweet nothings they’ll forget in
a minute or two. I sit and watch
the pantomime of unknowing participants.
But at times, I join in, not
thinking, an automaton lapsed into a
catatonic state of contented emptiness,
of talking without really saying anything.
Other times, it isn’t involuntary, but
a voluntary suspension of disbelief
to satisfy a psychological need that
I crave and I despise and I require.
hows the weather whats the news are they dating?
Senseless drivel that serves no purpose
but to prevent their ship from taking on water
and sinking into the depths of isolation.
Do you feel forsaken, my friend?
Do you feel stranded in a desert
with no chance in hell of getting out
so you run wildly into the mirages?
If you do, at least you’re paying attention.
Affection (Mirage #2)
Affection begins with delusion, with mutual unconscious
trickery. We enhance the outward facing
version of ourselves to entice others
who are doing the same goddamn thing.
Yet, we all fall for it, taking as gospel
the image portrayed by others: it’s
nothing but a simultaneous ego trip,
my dear, so beware the quicksand.
But we don’t heed the warning signs,
we don’t realize that we’re fooling
ourselves and each other, so we run wildly
into the tunnel of love and fumble in the darkness.
Furtive glances, happy sighs, most
are blossoms on the breeze, yet so
pleasant in the moment, so important
and crucial to your life, you imagine.
Push through the barrier, darling, push
through the illusion that grants nothing
but momentary happiness and a sense
of self-pity and longing when it’s over.
Persevere, and you shall fall through what
seemed solid, but was permeable and unstable
and find a lasting happiness behind the curtain
where true love waits.
Elysium (Mirage #3)
They toil through the day
and all through the cold, feral
night, trudging, slipping, falling on
the path towards salvation.
Pull one aside and ask,
“What causes your insanity, friend?”
and they say the tunnel that confines
them ends in distant, glorious light.
Their eyes, covered in soot, see
a distant glimmer, and so they
put one foot in front of the other
and the other and the other and the other and the other and the other and the
A deep rooted, muted pain in the soul
lubricates the rusty pistons of men
and spurs them on to drown their lives
in drudgery, in blind obedience.
Because, you see, they hope and dream
that the tunnel will open onto the
sunny fields of Elysium, all they
gotta do is keep on keepin’ on.
Throw such idle hopes to the
wayside, and open your eyes!
The only way out of this tunnel
is death, or perhaps insanity.
But keep working, keep pushing
through the pointless agony, safe
in the knowledge that your efforts
are destined to be forgotten.
My friends, you are free men
within this tunnel. Look around
you: it’s beautiful, precious, it’s
all you really have.
Relish the struggle, for it is
in the pains and aches of
your beleaguered soul that you know
that you are truly alive.
Elysium isn’t that shimmering façade, ye
noble souls: it is only what you make and do
where you are with what you have,
so ignore that light and start buildin’.
And stop heading somewhere when
All you need is right here.
Those were the Mirages. Once again, constructive criticism is always welcome. This blog has been an interesting exercise for me so far. Knowing that there’s a chance, however slim, that someone will be reading these poems makes me dial my quality control up to 11, and this filter is challenging me to put out the best work I can. Nevertheless, a friend and fellow blogger recently told me that I should pander to nobody but myself, and in the end of the day what matters is that I’m proud of what I’m putting out.
To any of you who read this and made it to the end, thank you so so much, and I’ll see you in the next post.
The Galley with No Name 