Archive for the ‘Саманта Смит’ Category

And I wondered what if…

Samantha Smith hadn’t died.

The child superstar no one seems to remember…

Wise,

with spunk,

she changed lives.

And while many mourn Hillary’s demise,

I wonder what if Samantha Smith had become

President of the USA.

Who she was and would have been, today.

And how much better the world would be.

But,

alas…

In “reality”,

sadly, very sadly,

I imagine the system would have molded

and stymied her into

another pathetic,

grasping,

power-maximizing,

political drone.

Disenchanted,

once again,

I curl into the foetal position

on my pathetically anemic,

uncomfortable

bed.

Reality is hard.

I wish for sleep,

alternative

actuality.

 

©ddr7hd

 

Samantha Smith visited me last night,

my how she has grown!

She smiled knowingly

and reminded me that we’re all the same,

just inconsistent

in application, desire, situation, desperation, and focus,

time and place,

depending who our neighbours are,

and whether we’ve been used and abused,

discarded.

Apart from that, we’re all pretty much the same,

she smiled, simpering coquettish, arms akimbo,

as she whispered: “fucked and forgotten”.

She drank a glass of red wine,

then another,

as we talked.

I asked her about life and death,

she said she’d finally found peace.

She pause appropriately,

silent.

Stupidly, I felt compelled to fill what I mistook for a void:

“Current affairs?” I ventured.

“No thank you!” she exclaimed.

So,

we played a word-association game,

something a Freudian taught her,

intelligent fun.

Indeed.

On and on.

Late,

alas,

it had been a long day and night,

though stimulated,

tiredness hit and

I fell asleep.

Strange dreams inside the goldmine…

An hour or two later

I awoke and she was gone.