An Ekphrasis

Based on the sculpture of the great thinker:

A silent man hunches over,
His eyes and gaze betray turmoil.
Hand on chin, his brows are knit,
Yet so still does he sit.
Not a single muscle stirs.
Not a single sound is heard.

His mind at work, he closely ponders
All the hidden, unknown wonders:
Philosophy, religion, science, math,
The meaning of life, the human path.
Every answer brings new questions,
Every question stirs new thoughts.

Maybe he recalls a long-lost love,
Pictures the beauty of a flying dove,
And with nostalgia, a childhood lost,
He imagines, but at what cost?
He sees the earth, the sky serene;
The past, the present, and the unforeseen.

Or maybe, there is nothing at all;
Society's empty shell sits tall.
The ignorant fool just pretends,
A pose to cover up loose ends.
He worries about what others see.
He worries that he may never be.

Philosopher, wonderer, artist, deceiver,
We'll never know, as none's the wiser.
The true thoughts lost to the universe,
Such is the torture of the human curse.
What others think, feel, and know
Are lost to us...what a blow.

The man stirs, and with a start
His gaze heightens and his lips part,
"Now what did I have for lunch today?"

A Moment in Time

Another Saturday passes by. The sun shines bright, the birds sing, the grass is green, the sky is clear. Thus, I sit within the confines of yellow; that sickly sea of yellowish peach that envelops the house. The computer screen flickers in rhythm with the monotonous drone of the tower. The clock ticks away at each passing, wasted moment of my life. More IB homework lays on the counter. "The more I do, the more that appears," I mutter to myself, "when will this ever end?" Like a robot without soul, like a slave without hope, I type on. I know my halfhearted efforts are futile, but the emptiness of white continues being filled by voids of black and on I type. I stop again and look around. The cell phone looks tempting, but who can I call that I can really talk to as myself? All it is is masks, I think. Of geek, of caring friend, of good person... I look at my neighbor's house in hope but my heart falters as I realize he's gone... Probably off with his girlfriend or crackhead friends. My car is gone, taken by my parents. Trapped I sit... I look around at my pocketknife in anger and despair. "No, not that again," I think as I look at my arm. I turn to the screen again. It stares back, beesichingly, wanting another bite at my soul. A storm of turmoil enshrouds my mind, but I push that all back as I launch the game, "Battlefield 2"; better called "Battlefield of the lost." I shoot at the terrorists with glee, each kill pushing back a problem in my mind, if just for a moment. But just as the soldiers respawn all the time, so do my unresolved issues, nipping at my mind, at my soul. I play on, with hopes of finding serenity. But the enemies keep appearing. The problems keep growing... Another lost game, despite my grandiose fighting. Typical... A horn honks. My parents have arrived. I close the game quickly. Alt, F4. As the door creaks open, I wipe my face, putting up my mask of happiness. Again a diligent student, I bring up teh essay window, and thus I type away at my life...Happy parents, happy kid, right? And no one knows, no one suspects a thing. All is "well."