Making Poetry In a Virtual World
There are people who don't get virtual worlds. That's okay. I used to be one of them. There are folks who think virtual worlds are just computer games with no real value. That may be true for them, but for me and countless others, the metaverse is a place where creativity comes alive. It is obvious in the creation of avatars and virtual settings. Even people who are deprived of avatars can see and appreciate that by looking at pics taken in virtual worlds. What they probably don't get is how much real art and literature and drama and music is made inworld. For that reason, I share a poem I created while attending an open write-in in Second Life yesterday. Sure I maybe could have written this poem without logging into my virtual office first, but would I?
by Stephanie Mesler (AKA Freda Frostbite)
I’m that dot on the map calling your name
when you’re bored and lonely and need a fresh game.
When you need a new start, to burn the bridge down,
I’m your hope in the distance, your future hometown.
Open your mind to what might lie ahead
if you should decide you’d rather be dead
than spend one more day trapped and in pain.
It’s true what they say, without loss, there’s no gain.
So cut loose the surplus, pack only what’s left.
Most things are weighty. Light bags are the best
for taking along when you slam shut the door.
Weightlessness lets you on the wind soar.
It’s your own spirit’s breath, that warm and sweet breeze,
that wraps all around you and lifts you with ease
out of the tumult, over the fray.
It holds you and hugs you and shows you the way
from a place where your heart breaks to where it can sing.
It gives you the courage to trust your own wings.
They can sustain you over the miles
as you choose not to let your life be your trial.
Put the map in your pocket and step through the door
Determine your days and nights should be more
than time-stamped hours lost and forgot
This is the time for taking your shot.
The future gets shorter, that’s what we learn,
as we cling to a past whose pages have turned
yellow and faded and started to rot.
No time like the present to live your own plot.
True Platitudes is copyright (c) Stephanie Mesler 2014. No portion of this poem may be reprinted or republished without express written consent of the poet, Stephanie Mesler.
At a Quiet Write-In at Freda's Place