i spend more time looking at my screens than looking at the world.
my eyes prowling through the internet and searching to find meaning in words—
stumbling like a lost child, touching space and climbing fortresses
for a purpose behind the scholarly walls of a thesaurus;
the untouchable years ahead; the mounting knowledge.
blind through the fog, i searched,
my steps staggering amongst unseen puzzle pieces
crashing like waves upon rocks
battering rams upon firm castle walls
moth to flame and broken keys to locks.
hardly enough. hardly enough to make an impact.
i adore the lavish waltz of language massaging my irises
murmuring their stories like bread to a starved man;
masteries of museum paintings filling my thirst,
overflowing my cup until i beg to stop—
cruel is desire when i gasp for breath,
lured by siren songs back into the broiling sea,
from which i had escaped for land.
my escapism, my long-term love; my weakness, my terror.
when asked what learning was, i could only glimpse—
i could only touch the fleeting words
as i place, in memory, the definition;
on paper its fragments
its elusive pieces
waterfall. meaning always lost in the shallow dips—and gorging twists.
RYS ZHU has an unhealthy attachment to coffee, hates 8:30 classes, and enjoys tomfoolery – when she’s not swamped with deadlines. Given a chance, she would gladly be cooped up in a cozy little cottage taking care of cats for the rest of her life. Lots of them. Preferably fluffy ones.