Motion Picture Soundtrack

a poem, hopefully.

The film begins without whirrs or flickers
Fresh pictures fade with elegance;
Blooming or wilting with the soft phrase of a letter
Or a pop song's sharp, smiling arrogance.

But I know how the television will narrow and begin
To drift away from me, and the technicolour
Will slowly blur to black and grey, it's passion draining
Because i'm only looking at the screen, no further.

Creases flatten out in certain circumstance
With the dawn of a new panorama, or under
A hot iron of hopelessness, where an emotionless chance
Can either repair the fabric, or tear it asunder.

I watch the lives of made up people playing
To a motion picture soundtrack, which flattens out
The dreamcoat, the towers, and the romance in the rain.
Ten more minutes float past, more than we should be allowed.