It's almost two in the afternoon,
the sun is out, birds whistle their tune.
From this mountain top I can see,
with crystal clear clarity,
the former land I used to stay
far, far away from play.
A butterfly lands on my arm,
“I see you've found the secret”, says its gaze.
I nod and say without alarm,
“I've stepped out of the maze”.
Then it lifted up and away
and my eyes followed to the city below,
I saw joy smothered by dismay;
frozen ebb craving flow.
I wanted to feel grief
but that passed in a blink,
all I had was relief
that I was free to think.
It's almost three in the afternoon,
the sun is out, birds whistle their tune.
From this mountain top I can see,
with crystal clear clarity,
the former land I used to stay
far, far away from play.
My sweat attracts the dust
and I begin to smear.
Still, I'm confident in my trust
that I'm supposed to be here.
My hair is long and mangled,
filled with grease and grime,
it protrudes out every angle
a tangible fragment of time.
The cool breeze blows by
whispering secrets never heard,
in an original lullaby,
never observed by the herd.
It's almost four in the afternoon,
the sun is out, birds whistle their tune.
From this mountain top I can see,
with crystal clear clarity,
the former land I used to stay
far, far away from play.
Feb 9, 2011
Feb 9, 2011 at 1:41 PM UTC
It's almost two in the afternoon,
the sun is out, birds whistle their tune.
From this mountain top I can see,
with crystal clear clarity,
the former land I used to stay
far, far away from play.
A butterfly lands on my arm,
“I see you've found the secret”, says its gaze.
I nod and say without alarm,
“I've stepped out of the maze”.
Then it lifted up and away
and my eyes followed to the city below,
I saw joy smothered by dismay;
frozen ebb craving flow.
I wanted to feel grief
but that passed in a blink,
all I had was relief
that I was free to think.
It's almost three in the afternoon,
the sun is out, birds whistle their tune.
From this mountain top I can see,
with crystal clear clarity,
the former land I used to stay
far, far away from play.
My sweat attracts the dust
and I begin to smear.
Still, I'm confident in my trust
that I'm supposed to be here.
My hair is long and mangled,
filled with grease and grime,
it protrudes out every angle
a tangible fragment of time.
The cool breeze blows by
whispering secrets never heard,
in an original lullaby,
never observed by the herd.
It's almost four in the afternoon,
the sun is out, birds whistle their tune.
From this mountain top I can see,
with crystal clear clarity,
the former land I used to stay
far, far away from play.
(c) Ray Rhekorn, 2011