Anonymity cloaks me when reality exposes all the pain of existence.
A voyeur hiding behind dark glasses.. always observing, judging, witnessing
Seeking something unfathomable, but never finding the reveal…
Go forward…clean sweep, new start, born again,
Always afraid of being discovered but more afraid of being forgotten…
With no back story to support or crush my withering spirit.
Any veiled inference can suffice… but never expand..
Anonymous we go into a crowded lift, bodies touching,
percolated coffee breath, eyes seeking recognition, naked …
We come out, undone, defrocked, identified.
There is loneliness in anonymity.
An impenetrable shield, like a gladiatorial weapon fielding thrusting blows.
But we are each in our own way hidden heroes.
An inconspicuous, heroic act that is done with the love of mankind being its only objective
and never for eminence.
Still looking, searching for the missing meaning,
I can see, be seen but no one sees me…
To then give up the quest- as a job unfinished and open my heart
The shield dropped, I turned around …and God has instead found me.
well, i'm hear, i've read it (once) , so i might as well comment. this is not nearly as clear to me as some of yours, L.P. perhaps some symbolism here? or is it a spiritual aspect about the poem which causes me to wonder what to say? Is me the voyeur? ? i got in trouble for that once! ! ! well, almost. but, ha ha, i wasn't caught! (cont.) (cont.)
(cont.) it seems one would have to be 'discovered' in order to be forgotten, but maybe.....yeah, ok, in a sense. the back story line stifles my thought. ok, not really; stifling me would take more than that! ! ! but back story is a new name for me; i'm not familiar with the term. (cont.)
(cont.) i'll say so long for now, unless i can't keep myself from reading another of yours now, but.........i've got more catching up to do responding via private messages to readers who've commented on my poems. bri (:
(cont.) i think most of the rest of my lost comments from yesterday had to do with me trying to be funny. e.g. i was saying i would like to enter a lift/elevator with naked members of the Dallas Cowboys (football team) cheer leading squad. i think they are all females. (cont.)
(cont.) try to avoid this by stopping the lines movement; but i think this trick times-out, on some poem pages but not all. another trick is to copy and paste poem somewhere 'safe' and typing a comment to it and THEN copying and pasting the comment, in sections if need be, into the comment box on the poem's page. sometimes i wonder if PH intentionally is trying to try our nerves! ! ! (cont.)
I'M BACK! i rarely see responses to my comments unless they are sent to me as a message, as i rarely return to a poem page after i finish submitting comments. but i read your responses (below) and think i can help. now i am typing on this page when your whole poem is NOT SHOWING, and no audio is playing and no line of color is traveling from left to right! ! ! it is when a line is moving and audio playing that the page flips. (cont.)
well, Lodigiana, i THINK i've succeeded in sending TWO segments of my comment, but one or two (or 3) others seem to have disappeared into cyberspace. it's partly my fault because i trusted PH and myself to do it correctly, and i did not type it somewhere else where it would be less likely to be LOST! ! MAYBE i'll submit more later. bri (:
sorry Bri but whenever I start typing the poem page flips and I lose comments thanks for reading
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
(cont.) back•sto•ry /ˈbakˌstôrē/ noun noun: back-story 1. a history or background, especially one created for a fictional character in a motion picture or television program (cont.)
trying to type a response but it seems to time out before I can complete