Sometimes,
when I look out of the window
on the first floor
of my tiny, tin box toy house,
I wonder if the view
is just for me.
If somebody else looked out,
what would they see?
Maybe I imagine
the scene
that’s above and below my dream
like state.
Vision projected from
a mind far gone
from another’s reality.
But, although there is bountiful beauty
in what I do behold;
rolling, royal hills all dressed
in deep sea green
with a fine mist
just brushing the tops of the peaks
in a friendly greeting
as it drifts by,
there are also imperfections;
a curling at the edge
like an antique postcard;
its message long faded.
A hint of black stealing across
the green
summer
of the too perfect scene.
There can be no perfect
without the imperfect
& accepting this fine duality,
we surrender
our senseless complicity with
a need for impossible bliss
-
Author:
rebmasters (
Offline) - Published: August 6th, 2021 03:16
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 22
Offline)
Comments1
'on the first floor
of my tiny, tin box toy house,
I wonder if the view
is just for me.
If somebody else looked out,
what would they see?'
'a curling at the edge
like an antique postcard;
its message long faded.
A hint of black stealing across
the green
summer'
(I agree as our eyes get older
that sparkly shine of Summer's, delight
begins to wane a little, year after year
I fear
still, at least we have covid, to blame
this year, maybe even next
it definitely tainted, last summer;
although, once covid has been
dealt with
what will we have, to blame
for this all-consuming apathetic mood
stifling modernity
and keeping us trapped, in this cyclical
'age of anxiety'
by stealing our capacity, to treasure
those simple gifts: in our lives...)
a wonderful concept, and a write
with so much untapped potential
although still, a Brilliant read
as it is
thanks for sharing, dear Poet
and for inspiring my little scribbled reply
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