Luminous Poem by Margaret Alice Second

The light is cold, a lack-lustre unleavened white
threatening death, trying to burn eyes from their
sockets, a one-dimensional glare like a morgue
in overexposure; but with large, luminous insect
eyes I float in a soft golden world created by the
light-brown lenses of cheap sunglasses to over-
come the menacing ugliness of this destructive
building aimed at killing the feelings and soul of
all who dare work here, changing us into robots

I laugh at them, lifted by the honey-coloured light
of my own devise which changes everything into
a soft sandstorm in a desert, far from the laser-
sharp shards which used to pierce my heart as
I walked down the passage to make some tea -
now I'm protected from the meaningless cold of
ergonomic space in the most lethal emptiness
mankind can create, oblivious of the emotional
and spiritual death they inflict on the living