He saw his life inside a cube
Between the lines refrained
Although the lines extended
He felt comfortably contained
He walked about unhindered
Reading maps kept in his head
So many ways to trace his steps
Where all to often he would tread
He fretted how the changes came
In patterns dancing in the night
Crudely sketching storyboards
On silver screens of tired light
He read the letters sent to him
To all and sundry he replied
Sending comfort to the anxious
Who suspected he had died
He revelled in the silent beat
Connecting curls in tuneful air
Felt the gentleness of atmosphere
Each tranquil pulse of solitaire
No comments:
Post a Comment