Inspiration.

The building that sits before me is not interesting…

Its neighbouring tree does not cast shadows that make my view creative.

Light doesn’t shine on its perpendiculars in a way that makes me shift…

Though its windows are another story.

They hold fragments of life,

that it’s steel structure cannot hide.

I don’t know the people inside.

They cannot know that I’m inspired by three everyday items upon a sill…

Placed and spaced

…accidentally perfectly for me.

One, two, three…

they ascend as if on purpose…

They cannot know

that an open brown envelope

Sits so ordinarily yet peculiarly there against the window…

Stagnant since the moment it was open.

They cannot know

an empty silver bucket bounces just enough light from it

to be the centred beacon of beauty, against cold metal outside.

How do I know it’s empty...? I just know.

Perhaps it’s the only aspect of this scene that they and I both share.

How wonderfully confusing this centre piece to my life, and theirs

sits so alone…

in shadows on their side and sunlight on mine…

But they’ll never know…

They cannot know

how a wicker basket contrasts neighbouring objects so starkly…

Or how beautifully natural it looks against straight lines.

And it’s not empty…

I just know.

They cannot know that this window into their world has pierced mine…

And I’m inspired enough to be content through my window

But curious about theirs…

As quick as a still tree moved a scene of colliding worlds "

the wind silences the crisp separation…

to a moulding of…

Nothing.

 

Reviews

[carol burgess romance]

I have to say I believe this is the first peice of poetry that I can recall hearing a distictive voice, just like in a short story. I love it...it rings so true with the creator of this write..it intrigued me when you begin how these things you see through the window is not interesting....it is a very good write.

[Liana]

Thank you greatly appreciated