Vast new monstrosities,
lined-up,
aside old architecture,
stood in the shadows,
as am I - beneath,
the ancient high-rise.

It's had a facelift,
since I saw it last,
refurbished -
it brings down,
hidden memories,
from stagnant trauma,
violent infantile time,
spent,
in an abode of old.

Rusted cycle,
on the banks of the lean canal,
flanked by the crack of alabaster,
and, the grimace of limestone.
Flowers rotten,
and, forgotten,
aside, a brooding statue.

All the while I'm drawn toward the snake-like, slippery skin of a shimmering cascade.

There's an aquatic attraction,
to plumes of smoky water,
atop the lily pads,
which rival those chest armours, protecting the geese, and, mallard's.
Each plumage; hugs the water,
in a natural, symbiotic embrace.

There's beauty;
in the simple things,
the forgotten things.

The things you don't see,
when you're engulfed by;
an awful, ugly, world.

A world captained by;
the financially rich,
the gloaters,
the not even wearing a coat-ers,
the ritually unaware boaters,
and, the willfully ignorant,
remaining; ignorant.
Must be blissful.

While;
the on-edge, the thinkers,
the unlucky, the brave,
the jumpers, the bloaters,
the sinkers, the all out at sea,
the floaters,
the ones that want the pain to end, the ones who just need a friend,
the ones who need to know we care, and,
the ones who have a minute spare.

Are left to flounder...

When, all, each, of us, needs;
is someone;

Someone to talk to, and; not be judged.

Just to talk...

And, be;
here; on dry land.
Not there; walking the plank.

© poormansdreams

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