Day 1678, distorted.

I like to look

at the reflection

of a blue sky

in one of the large structures

blocking

my horizon

~

the reflection adds

a much needed

distortion

of what I wish

to see

Day 1676, stand.

If you look

~

at what you perceive

~

from the right angle

and height

~

it will

align

~

but

be sure

to stand still

Day 1675, closer.

I see clouds

floating

above the roof

I lie

under

~

they seem so close

and far away

~

I ask myself

staring upwards

~

do I want to be closer

to those clouds

or the roof

Day 1674, playing.

The urge

to pull

on the first words

dangling

in your mind

~

when asked

for an opinion

~

curious

for what will happen

you give

in

and the rest

arrives

~

you pulled

like the cat

with seven lives

Day 1673, her.

She was standing there

forever

still in silence

~

I could see

her posture

new where to go

~

up the stairs

to get her…

Day 1671, against.

Our energy

seemingly

comes

from the same source

~

the wall

we stand against

~

ignoring

the fusillades

we look

the other way

~

and sometimes

we meet

each other

Day 1670, sideways.

I like to climb

higher

but all the lines

spoken

come towards me

~

I need lines

spoken

besides me

towards a step

and the next

~

please talk

besides me

 

Day 1667, noone.

The light and lingering rain

gives my mood

a muted tone

of afternoon and autumn

~

while I wander

in this light

I lookup

to an old window

~

and a thought

appreciating the mood

asks me:

~

does the window

fulfill its role

of bringing in light

in an abandoned house

Day 1666, fall.

For a few days in nature

a colorful festival

celebrates the end

of growth and feast

~

and we

admirers

in awe we forget

to celebrate

our own

Day 1665, sideways.

Like our nose

we don’t see the truth

when we approach it

to close

~

we can still see

a part of it

when we close

the right eye

~

when stepping back

is not an option

Day 1664, straight line.

A lot of things

that are man-made

have perfect

straight lines

going up

and sideways

~

even when we think

or speak

~

the shortest route

is a straight line

and when we look

for answers

we often

don’t wander

around

Day 1663, spilled.

From the clothespins

that are left

I can see

where you had your thought

hanging

to dry

~

I hope the blood stains

came out

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