An Idea Sleeps

In complete isolation, blanketed in silence an idea germinates
feeding on an abundance of potential that is both vigour and stealth
and that which historically has been the cause for much unadulterated rage
that which will consume oneself before the page turns over
to the ancient streets emptied of its dreams
where once the occasional woebegone man would run out screaming
of heartache and the loss of god, wandering in hopeless nights
now abandoned of any such dramatic performances
where this new found idea now sleeps
yet too somber to be made ridiculous into a misplaced dilemma .

The Lift

3 square foot in fashion steel
and on either side in between concealed
by the doors on brute magnetic force
as well the reflection running its course
which to the passenger multitude
was much comforting in its delude

as the mirror image and the retinue
in this journey continued
while from above and through the walls
a silent zephyr of might too small
for no human sense could it touch
yet the nascent wind aphostrophized as such

that only a petal on some cascade fall
was the solitary listener to the breeze’s call
for every vein on that surface red
chirped in joyance in good stead
and contained the joy in an anxious hurray
lest this moment quick fade away.