Tall Stories

Hell bent .
How stunning the views,
The very thingness of things,
When time is finite,
How appreciative I become.


How many steps did I take alone,
With only the pavement coming to meet me,
So what is one more,
For me and my white lips.

A sense that few have,
How it might be to fly,
A place where wisdom is bound to strike,
Just when I can least use it.

So my eyes are open wide at last,
Finally in the moment,
To see fifty fleeting framed portraits,
With an unjaundiced eye,
Of how might it be to fly.

That I might in an instant,
Be a witness,
To the very youness of you,
And send you my observations,
On streams of ticker-tape,
So in boxed locations,
Spectators might, in the absence of compassion ...... celebrate.

Those things which made your head fall,
Down into your hands,
Seems so slight when cast,
Against garlands of clouds and stars,
And that which might fly,
Heaven Sent.