Cubicle days
Elysium - city of fog.Your place is somewhere deep
amongst a thousand lakes
and silent forests.
Friend, have you a need of mortality?
Will you travel with me across the Nordic Sea -
to my home of ice and thunder?
To the dark woods where man
only visits once every fifty years.
I miss the silence. The closeness.
The intimacy with natures spirits.
I want to hear a chorus
of three black throated divers,
serenading poignancy.
I want to lie down on a
bed of pine needles and let
my soul drift away
across the pre-tundra.
But that is not here - nor now.
I am needed where I am - amongst
the dreams of little men
counting cubicle days.
Poetry by An-ders
Read 468 times
Written on 2010-01-25 at 08:36
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
