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BFP Poet: On They Stare
2:47pm Friday 15th June 2012 in Freetime
A POET from High Wycombe is the latest addition to the Freetime ranks, and will be penning a new poem for the website every month.
Johnathon Neal, who also acts, writes poetry, short stories and prose, plays, and screenplays.
He is currently rehearsing with Brooke Street Productions for a production of Shakespeare's Twelfth Night.
On They Stare
Open a door to our society, So dusty, so dingy, Creak the knob, around it turns, Scraping and breaking as rust unfurls, I step into the Gruxles’ lair, In the darkness I stand and stare.
I step into an empty room, And the door is closed, It’s filled with eyes that no one knows.
The Gruxles’ sit, hypnotized by a flickering glow, Stare on dead eyes that no one knows.
Not a word is uttered in the darkened room, As no one lives within a tomb, Instead they sit, they click, they clack, Long fingers enunciating forth and back, As unused jaws hang desolate, and slack.
Stooped and bent, and penitent, they watch; They track, and stalk, Remaining placid in their kotch.
Playing tag and reminiscing, Of fun and love, so strong but distant.
For now they’ll meet and never touch, Just building rapports within the kotch.
No love, no laughter, Just <3’s and lol’s, All expression expedited from their souls.
There bodies withered and drained, As on they dance in the masquerade, Whilst lifeless feet long to play.
I wonder around the empty room, I am the one that no one knows, Too busy are they with electric deities, They need no windows to be appeased.
I shout to them “up and out you go!”
“There’s a world for the taking, and so much to be had, no matter that it’s good or bad!”
“So come, up and away, and out you go!”
“And see the world that none among you know!”
But my voice is dry, As no words are spoken.
My fingers dictate, As my mouth hangs open.
And I sit and stare at the flickering glow.
I stare with eyes that no one knows.