Thursday, March 17, 2011

The Orator

Atop a building a ball bounced down
Not a ball I’ve ever before found
Not an oval, not a circle
Not bouncy, not lacking air,
Perhaps it’s not a ball at all

Over a bridge a body sits
Shallow yet overflowing,
Tiny yet large
A body like this I’ve never seen in all these years
Ever moving, always changing how it appears
The closer we get the further it disappears
In reverse the shorelines become crystal clear

Down the street I flexed my voice
Ahem, yes, I’ve made a choice,
Speaking out to all who’d listen
Not overtly loud, not in whisper
I have some peace I need to make,

An old orange crate I arose,
On to some larger ones that hung around,
Six feet high I surveyed in each direction
Cleared my voice to state,
To the empty street my speech competes
With rustling plastic and back alley creaking doors,
Bicycle wheels not properly oil
The emptiness took my words and carried them out
Echoing my message to the mysterious far

My words were crisp and they were clean
I woke up this way,
Very early on this day
And sleepiness has yet to arrive

No comments:

Post a Comment