*bear with me, here comes some truly terrible poetry. Don't hate me though, after spending all morning brushing up on my rhetoric skills I was tempted to write an ode to parentheses.*
Sighing softly, in the afternoon, Helen poured herself another cuppa tea
Rearranging her face in the microwave window
there must be something more to life than this
sitting by the computer
typing out a paper
staring at the golfing green across the path
removing onions from chilled soup
with a pair of broken, faded, jaded chopsticks
there must be something more to life than this
blowing roiling steam
off a mug heated to high
reading an theatrical, esoterical, Socratical debate
why was Meno such an idiot?
and why am I such a judgemental, neo-pseudo-hipster?
there must be something more to life than this
there must be something more to life than this
I bet there is
beyond computers, paper bags, skyscrapers
on the other side of the fence
which none of us will ever reach
when we realize life isn't about what we are doing
what we call ourselves
what we think of the world
and each other
perhaps we will see
that there is something more to life than this
than us
something more to life than us, than this.
The work of a girl-woman whose sole talents are writing and being lazy.
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Have a great day,
Helen