Outside Is Life
Poem by Edward Durand
Wrapped in cloth, can't feel the wind.
It rains, yet I remain outside,
Not trapped within cold hard finite walls,
the mind reduced to finity,
no life no hope, no freedom to roam.
Instead I stay outside,
a place of great beauty.
The trees hibernate
Yet the beautiful chaotic intricacy
of the branches reaches out to the sun,
absorbing its positive energy.
And the people stay inside,
in the abstract constructs called reality.
The river flows, pushed to the sea.
Don't want to wear a hat,
I want to feel the air,
but I'm supposed to have a lid.
Outside, there are no doors,
just clear perception of the world.
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