He stands alone where night hangs low,
LaTrobe beneath a sodium glow.
A bearded face, both lost and tight,
Lit faintly by his phone’s pale light.
His fingers twitch, his eyes sink deep,
Into a screen that doesn’t sleep.
The city's hum just fades behind —
He’s scrolling through a restless mind.
The night moves on, but he stands still,
A shadow carved by aching will.
Addiction’s grip, both cold and kind,
Feeds silence to his wired mind.
The tram rolls past, a whisper gone,
But still he waits, still stares alone.
No message comes to break the spell,
Just endless scroll in digital hell.
A man, a street, a screen held tight,
Another soul blurred out by night.
And somewhere deep, beneath it all —
A human lost, still hoping to call.
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He is focused on his cell phone. How did any of us walk down the street without a cellphone? One never knows where his mind is.
ReplyDeleteMaximum concentration. When writing, you can't make mistakes. Misinterpretations always cause problems.
ReplyDeletedetached from the surrounding urban context.
ReplyDeleteVery good
ReplyDelete