Fallen seedpods rust the ground
The sun hides, the wind shivering
Closer, air, and threaten rain
The world's gone unpredictable
Sunbathers beneath the clouds
Reproachful of the sky
Smoke, talk, eat and all these things
That help them live and die
Scatter, clouds, let's see the sun
Or shed the moisture that you've come
And what it goes to show is still
A mystery to me
And what I want to know is still
Something beyond me...
Scatter, people, far and near
That's how this world is made
I'll just hide in the shade
Of white not blue
I'm me not you
you see it's hard
but you don't even try.
So you don't evey try.
Some days it makes me cry - but not today
For I flow
The electrons carry me
Beyond where I really want to go
Like those I really want to know
and everything goes blank.
A stream-of-consciousness type poem, written while sitting in an outside area of APU during a lunchbreak when I was there for Work Experience, people-watching. The whole poem was written to give me an excuse to use the first line, because I was fascinated by the way the seed-pods fallen from one of the trees had left lines like traces of rust on the ground. The line 'of white not blue' comes from the fact that two people in front of me were talking loudly about football, which I associate with a kind of herd-mind social instinct that I don't generaly have and therefore deride as something to hide behind so you don't have to try to understand the world.
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