A Poem

Patrick Sharkey

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Description

This is poem I have written and read to show the voice of someone who is more emotionally connected to the message being delivered.

Vocal Characteristics

Language

English

Voice Age

Middle Aged (35-54)

Transcript

Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
I exit the museum full of long dead ghost fingers of culture's fractal body burned away by time. People are coming and going. All shades of brown. Ocha and pink of our thin skinned rainbow coats of Rich London high flyers and shoes worth my ear in bills and jeans, whose price is less denim and more one inch of tag as though the costs of life were fair and easy, scruff balls. We are few but I stand to represent us languages like unknown Galaxies of thoughts, tourists with the eager step of novelty, checking ancestors in foreign lands amongst those checking foreign lands ancestry on work a day soil and those to whom all is foreign. Foreigners being my home. Too different, varied disparate and divested. But in sunny January melting in the chilly London pot, I've seen more and it's just one thing with many faces care, excitement, concern, fondness, fatigue, boredom and the banality of common expression amongst artifacts too. History, seemingly even more varied than the present. But imagine the proud sculptor, stepping back, the frustrated artist cradling a headache, the brokenhearted poet and the broken potted potter and upon their faces will play my own life's expressions. The same as those who leave and enter the museum where so much is foreign and what a pity we see reality as it creates this veil of culture. For a felt, the mere glint of an eye in the tumult of our view reflects our own cells in each moment in emotions mirrored. Pull.