The World is Different Now

The World Is Different Now

The world is very different now.

I still drink coffee in the same kiosk,

Next to an orange garden under the trees.

But it is not the same garden, or the same trees.

They have subtly changed, edged into another shade

Of perception.

The green is still green. But it is not the green.

The green that shone, the green that was lush,

Laden with dew throughout the summer, even.

Remaining a moist, glistening green,

The one that only people in love can see.

The green I could not even conjure up

In my wildest dream. And if I did,

I myself would not believe.

The tables are different, too.

The dimensions have not moved,

Although, there has been a shift.

A loss of something that made them real.

Something about them has no feel and they are but,

Shadows to the touch.

As for the chairs, those I simply cannot trust,

Lest I sit and fall on the floor

Of a garden full of people that do not exist anymore.

And me.

Who am I now?

Have I faded along with the rest of history,

Become jaded, lacking in luster,

No longer a mystery?

The conundrum of wanting to go back

To something that might never have existed

Is to trust the intangible IT.

Make-believe is only make-believe

Until you believe in it.

Gerry Aldridge

Gerry Aldridge is from Newbury, Berkshire, England and lives in the foothills of a national park in Portugal, where he divides his days between doing sculpture, writing poetry and pet sitting. He is inspired by life and the human psyche, which he explores through his poetry and artwork combined

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