Funny is he who believes he is something that he is not. What defines us is who we are, as beings. Nothing like bringing about what is you. The concatenated spirit. The candor that lies beneath the perfect smile and decorative persona. The wounded soul. The intrinsic nature of your everyday existence. The values, the essence, the ideal machine, the organic wrapping paper that governs the gadget that has become you!
Questions floated like a perverted leave
mushing through the room looking for a place to land but
like a force of a raging bull
the wind came
knocking the plot down like a butcher man.
The truth wavered,
caressing the walls of the tittle-tale.
No one knows the literal storyline,
a sudden downpour brought it down flat
before it could say,
“Are you there yet?” “Yes, I am”, replied the feathered friend nested in the lantern. Nature and its things.
I wished to also be there, way up, relaxing on my make believe bed, looking down on the world and the passerby, checking on them going by.
I wished I was up there dreaming, wondering what the view would be like, how the people would appear in their itty bitty costumes, react once I was spotted piercing thorough the lantern, wondering if I would irradiate a pint of light, a beacon of an answered question and let them be guided.
I wonder, if I would be sitting quietly, rain or shine, hot or cold, eyes closed, the wind blowing, taking it all in, breathing; looking in a straight line, hanging upside down or upward or down up, depending on the present combinations of rubik’s cube I land in. Perhaps, it wouldn’t be so coquettish I lean on the stairwell solid brass pretending I was home, while wondering if my newly minted roommates would parachute in to tell me a bedtime story.