billow of steam coming from her hair
wisps of smoke rose into the air
reflecting the water as she spins
barging her way through as she grins
like finning along the sandy bottom
this time by the river lock she comes
as she pass by the bridge, one wonders
a grain of truth, is that what she’s after?
shadow of shoulder filtering her green dress
bless her, she’s running like a train express
perhaps she’s got something to solve
her brain’s trying not to dissolve
“What a tangled web we weave
when first we practice to deceive.”
If only we could filter out bad memories
Expressed conflicts that reached crises
Then we won’t have all the bitter cries
In quiet state disparage ourselves to rhapsodise
Enough bursting gusting emotion on the train
Our observational abilities are surely constrained
Why are we still keeping our fierce loyalty to them?
Are we by circumstances to spiritual exile condemn?
How could we untangle ourselves from their web?
The sand was firm and wide, the tide was on the ebb
When pieces of moments together springing out?
We realised something and we just want to shout
Are we deceiving ourselves to make us feel better?
Then perhaps it’s never too late to alter
Other “filter” posts:
Daily Prompt: Ban the Filters