Stillness Poem by George Price

Stillness

Rating: 5.0


What is this world, this silence?
The cracked paint on flaking walls
The still spiders clutching to the beams.

How can we live, in this hell-world?
In the still cream rooms, modernist
With no touch and no human and no life.

When the dusty tomes of prose and poetry
Lie, fading slowly, by the walls and creak
And when there is no patter of little feet.

When we are bored and sick of this
Modernistic, futuristic house, this false home,
How can we dream? How can we be?

POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
This is one of my negative works, a poem dealing with the falseness of the modern world, and how unimaginative, stifling, and lacking in life our society is. Apologies if it's a bit dark!
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Roseann Shawiak 10 January 2014

The idiocy and mundane falseness of today's world leaves little to be desired. That's why we poets must imagine and write what we see in our poetical minds so the rest of the world can have hope in a better, unstifled society, full of life and adventure. Love your poem. Dark can be good because it makes us appreciate the light that much more. Thank you for sharing. RoseAnn

0 0 Reply
Terry O'leary 22 August 2013

Nice poem... why apologize? It's not your fault... You're only reflecting... Terry

1 0 Reply
Valerie Dohren 14 August 2013

A good description of our modern world and its lack of character and quality. Great write George, enjoyed reading.

1 0 Reply
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
George Price

George Price

Norwich, UK
Close
Error Success