The night sky was a piece of art, sketched
By a thousand eager caresses of the wind and
Painted with tender brushstrokes in the many
hues of dark blue, sprinkled with white sand.
There she sat cross-legged, bare arms trembling with
Cold (anticipation) --the earth seemed so far away
Suspended on a canvas of concrete hundreds of
Feet in the air, metal bars in decay
Lights dying, fumes dissipating, horizon
Fading--Skyscrapers but a silhouette
In a backdrop of gray (the silence felt wrong, somehow,
Like fine wine on a picnic mat)
So she closed her eyes and imagined--
less gray, more blue,
The smell of petrichor, and the humming of birds, and leaves
glistening with the sheen of morning dew
But she opened them again--
Saw prison bars, and she realised,
All along she had been listening to a lonely
Melody her mind had devised...
Painting an impossible picture.
Aug 5, 2015
Aug 5, 2015 at 10:46 AM UTC
The night sky was a piece of art, sketched
By a thousand eager caresses of the wind and
Painted with tender brushstrokes in the many
hues of dark blue, sprinkled with white sand.
There she sat cross-legged, bare arms trembling with
Cold (anticipation) --the earth seemed so far away
Suspended on a canvas of concrete hundreds of
Feet in the air, metal bars in decay
Lights dying, fumes dissipating, horizon
Fading--Skyscrapers but a silhouette
In a backdrop of gray (the silence felt wrong, somehow,
Like fine wine on a picnic mat)
So she closed her eyes and imagined--
less gray, more blue,
The smell of petrichor, and the humming of birds, and leaves
glistening with the sheen of morning dew
But she opened them again--
Saw prison bars, and she realised,
All along she had been listening to a lonely
Melody her mind had devised...
Painting an impossible picture.
This world is far too technologically-advanced to acknowledge or care to appreciate Mother Nature. There are so many campaigns to promote "saving the earth" but do we listen? No! I fear that if this goes on for much longer, it will be no longer possible to change our ways...but honestly, what can one girl with her poem do? Absolutely nothing.
Based on a picture taken on a whim
