A poem

Here is where I build my world,

In the spaces of time, around the muted stories,

Reaching to touch a wave as it breaks-

In their mind, spread on the ground beneath you,

Watch as he paints the wooden ceiling, the floor

Coloured the soles of their feet.

Rise and shout, for the wind will hear

A witness to our truths, a comfort in the air.

I once lay with them,

Eyes turned up to the atmosphere

A tune,

Far away from my view.

Do they look down at us? The clouds- I mean,

Do they watch our every move, steer fate in our direction?

Or are the clouds reborn? Another soul recycled for future friends to find.

Break. Break again,

The only thing I know for sure is your cycle,

The rhythm you follow, the beat that plays

Beating the earth, stones upon stones.

If we’re always touching something, connected to the earth,

Are we connected to others too?

Take off your shoes

Unknowingly it supports you, holds you,

Once a drifting smile, a line blown across a page,

An old voice as they reminisce.

Once again I’m building my world-

In my own, dusty mind.

(I told you lot this was going to be a creative outlet)

Jenny

Jennifer Funnell