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 430 times
Written on 2010-01-25 at 08:36

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email (requires login)
dott Print text