Once again they scatter; a whirlpool of randomness.
Lazy, searching eyes drift across and rest,
On a form akin to avian wings.
Concrete soothes my back, firm and still,
High, surrounding walls bind me to a world unreal,
A world of queens and kings.
Wings they were, no doubt; what use were wings to clouds?
I gazed and wondered from the highest part of my house,
Wondered at the subtle tease.
Somewhere deep inside, a promise was made,
That of great heights; a skyscraper built in a head,
One that won’t be ascended with ease.
Yet come down, I must, and so must those clouds,
But they will have had the gaze of a million crowds,
Gazes of awe, from people aroused.
Gentle panic sets in, dampened by thoughts of people,
The majority; who think they see,
But are yet to look beyond the concrete beneath me,
The highest concrete of the house.
Once again they scatter; a whirlpool of randomness,
Lazy eyes observe the mess, the wings were gone,
There I rested on the terrace, till the day was done.
(A tribute to Pink Floyd)