Walk Away: To reclaim ownership of yourself

By: Mark.A Pritchard (aka SwindonPoet/Rorshach1004)
Date: 15th September 2015



I understand the feeling, the need intensifying, to leave it all alone.

To smile, though nobody looks, cares.

To turn from the noise, from the jump on sentences, repeating themselves for infinitely.

Recycled ideologies, personality types, life stories, falling for the same old tricks, again and again.

Our age, our time, our ruination, humans devolving, and now, it’s time to walk away from the crowd.

Degenerated mass, circus animals, performing tricks, to amuse each other, not caring about their own enslavement.

They love it.

They really do.

Exchange whip, fight for ownership of coercion.

Sales talk, just talk, they love a good con man, woman now.

The only option for the awake is to walk, away from their cage love, circus love, love of the lie.

To leave the car in rush-hour traffic, throw the iphone away, embrace the quiet solitary life, away from the dull noise collective.

Broken routine, reclamation, noise fading, mind silence, quietude expansion, a chosen walk, away.

The Comfortable Cage of Sweet Routine: A Day Interrupted in Swindon Town Centre

Poem by: Mark.A Pritchard (aka Rorshach1004/Swindon Poet)
Date: 3rd September 2015


Sweet routine, you comfortable little cage, on tracks I roll, going where I always go, but suddenly, leaves, a red stop sign, the comic book shop has a little notice on it’s closed door.

‘Gone for an emergency, back before 12:30pm at the latest.’

So I’m waiting in a coffee shop, not the vulgar ‘Friends’ type, the old fashioned type, the type where you sit at a little wobbly table, brush the sugar away, and watch for wasps.

I sit eating a brown bread cheese and onion toasty, with coffee.

The coffee is black, and much nicer than I thought that it would be. It shocks me into wakefulness, banishing the routine, the dream, this is reality now, and I’m forced to stop, stare and think about it.

The shoppers fly past, ignoring me, as they ignore each other, this is society, no communication, just little tracks of routine still running.

I watch the routines fly by as my own tracks are delayed, thinking back to mornings five, ten, fifteen, twenty, twenty-five, thirty years ago.

I have changed, but am still the same, sitting alone as I always did, not because of any reason, it's just the way that things are, and I do not question it now.

I finish up my coffee and there is a little smiley face at the bottom of my cup. He’s smiling at me, wishing me a pleasant day. I smile back, is this communication?

I sit up, the Polish waiters talk amongst themselves, and it’s almost 1pm. The comic book shop should be open by now.

I walk for two minutes, it’s open, the stop sign turns to green, and I’m back to my old routine again.




The beautiful image at the top of this poem is ‘Alone In the Crowd,’ by US artist David Derr. You can find his work here: 
http://fineartamerica.com/featured/alone-in-the-crowd-david-derr.html