Around me, voices of vibrant people echo,
Bass of men and the sweet long rhythm of a woman’s own,
The rain adds his subtle slaps,
As it hits the wet soil,
I think of the morning’s a cappella and my own silence amid the song.

A mile away, this red beacon of light flashes at me,
High above the city, until it feels like a code is being passed.

The pauses in time can be significant,
The way that we remember or interpret our lives
Like a mystical play,
Only it is not.

There are tall buildings from this floor
In the famous art centre, where I now stand,
It mirrors my thoughts:
Ever growing beyond the limits of biology
Like a self-centred font.

I wonder a bit about the gallery I am standing above,
I should probably see it, even though I’ve been here many times,
I have missed the thing I love:

Peering at a piece of art like it is God.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Photo by Tem Rysh on Unsplash