Left Behind


We’ve been left behind,
100% certain,
in a crowded,
yet lonely existence without the privacy of a curtain.
Only fragments and clues remain,
of the imagination’s​ once held,
which allowed all too live outside the boxes box,
outfoxing the foxes.
As lifeless hands, took over,
stealing away each of the world’s desires,
it’s drive,
it’s colorful canvas of dreamscape​s escaping, like dancing embers in the fireplace, as puppeteer’s portray them as fireflies.
New Manchurian candidates,
​left on hold.
Delighted in acquiring feedback,
by artificial tinmen, Alexa and Siri modern agenda’s, doing as they’re told.

While I’m left, taking back all my starry wishes,
as lapses and disappearances,
always make it,
too awakened eye’s vision.
Accusing parts of life in
of having, bouts of amnesia,
fogginess of misplaced things, places, and the most important people.
All changed around,
in memory,
even last known places, held secretly, near,
all erased
left frantically searching,  
through catalogs of allowed images that still, appear.
Seeking clear chronological order,​
too reconstruct ,
the hidden pieces left,
as old projector slides,
flick by quickly,
without recall of being felt.
Left behind,
childhood’s​ and dreams, 
suffering from senility oftentimes​, 

once my eyes open,
 but forget, what was, the intriguing theme.
No memo was in order, nor 

a memorial marked, unleashing balloons,
a candlelit vigil
for the beloved facts,
my mind lost, too soon.
Most memory kept,
yet, 12% partially released.
I remember,
for it was when, my phone and tv
acknowledged they
became, smarter than me,
conducting programmed tests, channeling where my mind ventured daily, and where it went to rest.
See, me and tv, we turn each other off, I see right through your brain washing deceptions, a taker, offering a one sided view, 

out to replace the brilliant minds of genuine character’s, 

as an additive inside creepy
zombie stew.
It’s like always, a flash of hurried miniseries passing by,
without a real script, memoir, biography, nor
a mental note,
too serenade it’s frantic cry.
Left behind,
without replacement,
of where too go next,
no hints,
clues, or
impacted by a deadline’s,​ text.
That which used too tread and trends inside beliefs.
 is found as habits of happenstance,
that shaped love, laughter, and genuine nature​,
all gone,
the heart and soul’s, internal speed.
As mystery vanished from its roles, the vividness too life’s color, the milestones, our own minds control, left behind,
from traces of mere description.
when there was no gray area 
in familiarity’s hands, delaying and taking stands, against heavy cloud’s recognition.
Back when we still craved, exposed real feelings, more willing participants and better 
Especially for fond memories too care, like familiarity filled air, of chocolate chip cookies, oatmeal raisin, peach cobbler triggering a memory’s dare, the enjoyed sounds of love music hopelessly playing, 

the close spooning fit, of lovers comfy like a glove,
a reward of tired cheeks and side cramps from full belly laughs, that rendered heart’s, full too the top, in love. Back when the truest kisses were always felt, 

chances were excellent, in romance and health, trust was earned like merits of respect, and child rearing made the  perfect bond, 
without technologies help.
That cozy smooth pursuit, that soothed and challenged each mind.
No mechanical voice,
subliminally​ chanting in the background,
too forget the past, good or bad choices, and leave it behind.
As slowly, everyone reflects more often again,
caught coming too,
reaching back inside the heart’s fondest memory and the slideshow too the mind’s biggest grins. 
Impressed by the newly old forgotten finds, as it leads them one step closer, too the realness, of what got left, behind, back when..


Life lesson poetry
By Tamara Dorsey-Moore
Thinker on the Loose
Wide awake👀
Copyright © 2017


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