Corridors of Ink
There are times when it is Necessity to be alone.
In such moments,
When the mind shimmers between the real and ethereal,
I desire to find myself in a deserted town
Devoid of human life
But reflecting its nature,
Only there can man find answers about himself
Beneath a setting sun
My hands have lingered on the walls
Deserted by their builders,
But whose purpose I can feel
As if the town, denizens and makers, were speaking
As buildings are a language in the spatial world,
The landscape of paper is populated by many such constructs of ink
Whose endless corridors
I wish to wander
Copyright © David Costello | Year Posted 2020
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