BIO
Los Angeles based writer Priscilla Snyder writes poetry, short stories and social commentaries. Most of these all dealing with the misgivings of our cleverly, happily ever after constructed lives, where egos run rampant and heartache is just another day in the city. She can be contacted via myspace http://www.myspace.com/american
Train Station Lament
The Sun creeps
Through the fog like
A golden wildfire
Roosters are doing their job
The city is starting to wake
My walk is chilled by
The covered sun
I walk briskly
Clutching my sweater to me
Listening to my own soundtrack
Trying hard not to be disturbed
I look across from my destination
Two lovers have taken Refuge
In a parking lot
Cold and empty
The sun kisses them
For a brief moment
I witness their intimacy
I am jealous
His hand slowly crawling
Up her back
Ending entangled in her hair
Their way of saying goodbye
I guess
I hear the train approaching
I steal one last look
At the lovers
As if I am saying goodbye
Their kiss frozen in my mind
Doors Open
I fight my way on
Next stop
Reality
My Soul Cries Alone
Tears Stain my Cheeks
For my brothers
And sisters
I flip through these pages
Of misdirection
A constant distraction
Of other people’s lives
Hallowed images
Of a society
Gone awry.
Where image is
Your definition
And wastefulness
Is praised
My own hands
Covered
In the Ink of
Our demise
Hunger
Pain and shame
Fill too many hearts
While Greed & Lust
Shine bright in
My enemy’s eyes
Why has it gone this far?
Why have we done nothing?
Cleverly building our own
House of Insecurity
While waiting for
The nest issue
I Cannot Stop Thinking
After all the years gone by…
I thought I was done
My heart finally sewn back
From the torn home
We Created
I found out today
Death was close to your door
All those buried feelings
The ones I had suppressed
Chosen to forget
Came back to my mind
They are not in the way
That they were before
Yet I am nostalgic
I am Privy to your pain
You are re-married now
I can no longer be the one
To kiss your wounds
This must be The Final Act
Of Letting Go