Wednesday, 15 December 2010

The Blue, part 2

Most films make me cry,
or nearly do,
not just because they're
sad, or
funny - so I laugh so hard
it brings the tears -
but because I'm jealous
of the way they
travel, and don't just get
one shot
at things like running
mad into the ocean,
like buying the best
food near a Marseilles
dock on a specific date
in one specific year.
They last shorter than
the average human life,
much shorter,
and yet I envy
them because
once they stop they
get to get played again,
the same,
unchanged,
and so there's always hope
at the end of
Shawshank,
leaves me wishing I could say the same for me -
the only thing I
have over cinematic
masterworks is
that my will, at least,
is free,
but I get to thinking
that might not be
enough, if I don't
have another
Marseilles moment soon...
Still, the future's what
you make of it, I
guess
and it's my fault
if I choose to spend
it going green-eyed
over films in my
front room.

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