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Writer's pictureshsimages

Behind the Screen | Henry Bradt (11)

On his face

His screen glows 

Luminous eyes and a luminous nose


There is a film that covers

His face so bright

So no one knows what’s truly in sight 


He takes on a form in front of the screen

That those who know him will know isn't clean 

 He morphs to be like others on his screen.


And people see him off the screen

A man with no image, no purpose to be seen


Instead, this is what he makes himself to be:


Here we have a man

A perfect face, a perfect life

A perfect dog, a perfect wife


But hidden inside himself is strife

Strife that only comes to life

When the film is gone


And this light

That makes his face so bright

Can change it in an instant with no might


His smile comes only 

From being entranced in the light

And when darkness comes, the smile fades slowly.


With a fading smile,

Comes his fading life,

With his perfect dog and wife


Tears stream down,

With an ominous glow

Different from the one we see that shows.


Here, in the quiet of the night

 the real face becomes raw.

It’s cracking, it's breaking, turning black and white.

All from the pressures it hid from, then saw.


This face is now torn, like it was cut with a knife 

Fragile and exposed for only one to see.


No one else understood him, his real life.

How could he make them see?


His wife and his dog didn't know,

 and frankly, neither did he.


He's been on his screen since 17

When he was carried away in a limousine

and from his riches and fame


his dog, his house, and his beautiful wife 

Came, and all for him.

He got everything he wanted.


But here, in the quiet of the night,


He’s alone. 


He's reaching for it to come back to life,

but it’s dissipating before his glassy eyes.


And now he’s too late.


Here we have a man with riches and fame,

wanting to be like someone else in this “artificial game”.

How ironic, how lame.


And the one emotion left, after all that was drained,

Is shame.

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