Upstairs
Can you look out the window of your apartment
and say to the lone tree down the street,
“There’ll be no kittens on your branch today.”?
Or coax a raindrop to fall forthwith up,
back to its gray-blue consort
just to save a grownup rose’s precious petals?
I know the latter’s way too easy; so easy…
Can you advice excited stars
to untwinkle missed flickers of skylight
all for a blind man’s sake?
You do agnize it makes no difference, huh?
So might you try mustering words for this.
To make just what you think is best.
Then -
Why not put your spectacles away?
Or lay naked with emotions?
Why read the paper indoors
when light is out in the open?
Now I declare:
We’re lions with big game to catch;
what matters is the opinion of the pack
and what’s essential is the pride’s nod.
Now look out your window.
Let sunshine pierce through and for once
say to the tree down the street,
“I’ll grow branches for you today.”
Copyright © Rory Ian Bualan | Year Posted 2010
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