Left Behind


We’ve been left behind,
100% certain,
in a crowded,
yet lonely place 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 have escaped, as even bloodhound’s​ fail,
in finding the tiniest
to trace.
New Manchurian candidates,
​left on hold.
Delighted in acquiring feedback,
by the new Tinman, Siri and Google keeping all,

doing as they’re told.
While I’m left, taking back all my starry wishes,
as lapses and disappearances,
never make it,
too the awakened eye’s vision.
Accusing parts of life in
of having bouts of amnesia,
fogginess of misplaced things, places, and the mosr important people.
All changed around,
in memory,
even last known places, you held, dear,
left frantically searching,
through what allowed images, 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
suffer from amnesia,
even a few times​,
my eyes opened,
forgetting what intrigued them.
No memo was in order, on the Memorial to unleash balloons,
a candlelit vigil
for the beloved facts,
my mind loss, too soon.
Most memory I kept,
1% partially released.
I remembered,
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, we turn each other off, I see right through tv,
it’s brain washing deceptions,
The taker, one sided view,
out to replace my brilliant mind and genuine character,
too add, inside it’s creepy
zombie stew.
It’s like always, a flash of hurried miniseries passing by,
without a memoir, biography, nor
a mental note,
too compare, in it’s senile cry.
Left behind,
without replacement,
of where too go next,
no hints,
clues, or
impacted by a deadlines,​ text.
That which treads and trends outside we’ve seen.
Those habits of happenstance,
that shape love, laughter, and genuine nature​,
all gone,
out running​,
the soul’s internal lead.
As mystery vanishes from the roles of recognition.
The vividness of life’s milestones, are left behind,
from traces of description.
when still,
in familiarity’s hands, taking stands, against the heavy clouds.
Back when we craved,
for the air of chocolate chip or oatmeal raisin,
enjoyed the sounds of love music hopelessly playing,
the spooning fit of lovers comfy like a glove,
The full bellyache laughs, that rendered heart’s full too the top in love,
When the truest kisses were always felt,
chances, were excellent, in romance, trust, and child’s play,
without technologies help.
That cozy smooth pursuit, that soothed and challenged each mind.
No mechanical being,
subliminally​ telling everyone,
good or bad,
too leave they’re past behind.
As slowly, everyone reflects more often again,
caught coming too,
reaching back inside the heart’s memory and the mind’s,
Impressed by the forgotten, one more,
the realness of what got left, behind.


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


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