How these streets
Of busy people,
White-lighted, foolish
Proximity, never see each
Other, never touch.
Such is dreaded apprehension -
Spiral steel into the clouds,
Dizzy in the afternoon, paused
Still life, shackled altitude.
Never knew the Lonesome
Compact, ‘til distant ambiguity
Tossed itself
Across horizons, beyond
The moon’s red sheppard sea.
The other side is always
Greener, experiential, forbidding -
As if distance kills, fully knowing
It never acts alone.
That’s these streets of
Busy people, faceless,
Oblivious - young woman in
The yellow dress
I see you.
A laudable poem and there is no any calibration for the distance?
Amazing the things we see if we know to look......great poem
Excellent poem, as a poem and also for the message. What is becoming of us? I'm glad someone noticed! Excellent comment on today's street life. Patrick
Wonderful visions in word, , , I ca see the picture you paint… a 10 Kelly!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Hey nice imagery in this one exellent work