(20 minute poetry)
Where the chamois go
out along the plateau
to where the winds blow and the Sun sets with that special lonely kind of golden glow
and silence undercuts the thermals.
It pleases the eye to wonder on high,
the eagles, another golden in the golden sky wonder why
I am here.
Away from the chaos of life in the city,
to absorb what is seen
to ponder on what will and if will
will still be.
On the spiral staircase and we turn about face
but the staircase is still there on the rise going nowhere
it's a ruse of no use to me.
The plateau is where we stow all the memories we own
the plateau is a home to me.
May 25, 2016
May 25, 2016 at 9:22 AM UTC
(20 minute poetry)
Where the chamois go
out along the plateau
to where the winds blow and the Sun sets with that special lonely kind of golden glow
and silence undercuts the thermals.
It pleases the eye to wonder on high,
the eagles, another golden in the golden sky wonder why
I am here.
Away from the chaos of life in the city,
to absorb what is seen
to ponder on what will and if will
will still be.
On the spiral staircase and we turn about face
but the staircase is still there on the rise going nowhere
it's a ruse of no use to me.
The plateau is where we stow all the memories we own
the plateau is a home to me.
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