The Rage That I Stitch To Lips

Interconnected, we fly through the world,
emotional webs weaving intricate
designs for all to flick with eyes; alone.
Billions of pages flap before minds,
countries are entered; an instant message.

Silence is avoided as I crash thoughts
into the escape's multilayered bliss,
screams are good company to love's cold aches.
A breath away, visions of yesterday
curl the tomorrow I'm going to waste.

There's so much to do in isolation,
some poetry perhaps to show we care,
or photographic silent imagery,
maybe some art; communication's smile,
let's sit back and debate it while hours
gather energetic contemplation.

Battered brushes paint separation's face;
so quaint, it merges while fingers brush tears,
laughter's eerie echoes spin the dead dreams.
Romance blinks while comfortable language
grips tightly the fears, the joys, squeezes them.

Time slips a grin while we are occupied,
and another slice of freedom attacks
as the curse of modern humanity
wraps a sigh around solitude's features;
bordered at the edge of our loneliness.

All the seconds roll into empty years,
resignation gives shoulders a massage
while glass-eyed pain hits the wall and bounces.
I might wake up happy when the new dawn
catches the rage that I stitch to my lips.