A Short Poem

We did a writing exercise the other night in Philosophy of Music that ended up in a poem. I don't consider myself a poet, but I thought I would share what I came up with.

Past the buildings and the statue, past all the smiling faces
past the tall spires sits a man,
longing for balance, basking in the warmth of the foliage of his dream.

In his world, the shadows fall on the ups and downs.
In a strange landscape filled with natural elegance,
he sees a religion that is for his eyes only.

Like the artist playing with the contrasts, his dream is ever growing and changing.
For in this dream lies the quilted truth.
In this dream, someone is always reaching, and someone is always witnessing.

In a way it's a shame, for when the dream ends it becomes our story now
and when we look back there's nothing really left...

....just the sky.

May God keep you, this and every poetic night.

Even when poetry has a meaning, as it usually has, it may be inadvisable to draw it out.... Perfect understanding will sometimes almost extinguish pleasure. ~A.E. Housman