Soma Holiday

It is a thing of concentrated thought.
Tiny, white, so insignificant and yet-
It holds all hope and compromise; the choice,
the decision between
death and breath and pulse-rate.

It weighs only half a gramme and it has
Atlas himself perched on its back.
It is a miracle.

Taking it is no trouble,
it is readily available. All of man
diagnosed with
humanity given one of these.

A sip of water,
and
it is

gone.

The colours intensify.

Oh, what wonder!
Peacocks feathers float like comets
through harsh spring clouds.
The light blurs and streaks and
becomes a map of insanity,

I feel the lavender and coffee-infused
aroma atoms strike across my face,
each tiny slap
I deserve, I deserve.

Who am I to judge?
I cannot see.
Who am I to think?
I cannot hear.
What am I?
I cannot speak.

Simplicity gaining lucidity as
the whitewashed walls
burst into fireworks and all
reality is a dull ache, a dull dream,
content on irritating my private
mind of squalor.

I look at them, smiling like I,
each a separate living being
under the influence
of endorsed tylenol.
I see the shining, golden stars at
the centre of their souls.

Mine is not with them,
mine is a nebula,
a broken star.

No matter what bliss I try to find,
memories of collapsed hearts still
sting like a hive of governmental bees.

This is one of your poems which I'ma ctually struggling to fully understand. I probably haven't woken up properly yet though.

*re-reads*

I iz smart. I've got it.

'Mine is not with them,
mine is a nebula,
a broken star'.
^That was just insanely beautiful, and I particularly liked how you made the emphasis on 'mine', because I can tell that a lot of people would've just gone with 'it', but the repetition really served to enforce it here. Almost a sense of childlike possession. *is reading in far too deeply than is necessary on a Saturday morning*

Everytime I thought I'd found something I could criticise, I re-read and realised that that thing was as insignificant as find a single speck of dust on a flawless carpet.

its really deep, i find the idea horribly facinating its something i could read again and again and again(and again).

Ok first...sweet a Brave New World reference. I thought I was the only person to ever read that...heh... But now as for the poem: I found it difficult to understand mostly because it just felt like non-coherent yammering. I mean everything seems put together fine and dandy, but in the end...what is really coming out of it? You may understand but I really couldn't... Don't get me wrong I didn't hate it. In fact I found your imagery to be some of the best I've ever seen on here. Nonetheless, I felt that it just could have been put together better is all.

I'd almost forgotten just how wonderful your work is. That was so incredible I'd be jealous if I wasn't in love with every line.

I miss you so much it hurts sometimes.