The rain falling from a tree lands with a weight
It is comfort, the outside world reminding me it's real
There is more than the airless, dry aired, stuffy rooms of school
There is a whole world to explore.
If I ran into the middle of the moor, and closed my eyes
Breathless
The roar of traffic could almost be the sea
Northern, icy, blue-green-grey.
In my kind it tickles the priory on a stormy night.
I wonder what it would be like to be somewhere hot
Where warm, humid air and bright light was outside
And icy cold white expanse was in.
Those grey clouds are more than the grey tinge of copy paper.
The black of tarmac is more than board pen
The spiny trees are real, no words come from their branches
All are familiar, and yet outside provides comfort.
Inspiration.
Jun 3, 2016
Jun 3, 2016 at 5:27 PM UTC
The rain falling from a tree lands with a weight
It is comfort, the outside world reminding me it's real
There is more than the airless, dry aired, stuffy rooms of school
There is a whole world to explore.
If I ran into the middle of the moor, and closed my eyes
Breathless
The roar of traffic could almost be the sea
Northern, icy, blue-green-grey.
In my kind it tickles the priory on a stormy night.
I wonder what it would be like to be somewhere hot
Where warm, humid air and bright light was outside
And icy cold white expanse was in.
Those grey clouds are more than the grey tinge of copy paper.
The black of tarmac is more than board pen
The spiny trees are real, no words come from their branches
All are familiar, and yet outside provides comfort.
Inspiration.
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