From the windows looking out that look in on those that stand before
and the eyes that never see but hear the closing of another door
and the day that lives so restless in the hands of idle men
and the pen that strikes the rhythm.
Where the water line sinks low and the window is the only place where single lonely *** plants grow
you'll find me here
you'll find me there
and sometimes crying on the stair
where more than anything I ever knew and never knew that sadness is the colour blue.
What is this point
what does fate hold
why does the clock keep secrets that I have not been told.
All imaginings and other things
and windows plant their seed in pots that only need a drop or two of sadness blue and all this I know is true.
In this the moment of despair in here or there or on the third stair that creaks with unashamed glee every time I step on it or sit upon the thread and tread a bit
we
that is I
will try
to cope.