Rain makers are far above
The muddy puddles unreachable too.
Stuck in the middle,
On the nineteenth floor.
People look like ants
In different shades and textures.
Homes are rectangular patches
In blues and greys.
Wind is the only element
That my fingertips feel,
Blowing chirply or violated ?
My home doesn't belong to the scape.
A tall something in the middle of nothing.
Hushed tails of passing by motors below,
Whispering, killed by the breeze.
Picked up and positioned
Earned well it seemed.
This altitude, this detachment,
This difference of a degree.
Men pretty and tall,
Ugly and short.
Big and small dots,
Dots in dots.
Is this the beauty
And the vision that god intended
I wonder ?
The muddy puddles unreachable too.
Stuck in the middle,
On the nineteenth floor.
People look like ants
In different shades and textures.
Homes are rectangular patches
In blues and greys.
Wind is the only element
That my fingertips feel,
Blowing chirply or violated ?
My home doesn't belong to the scape.
A tall something in the middle of nothing.
Hushed tails of passing by motors below,
Whispering, killed by the breeze.
Picked up and positioned
Earned well it seemed.
This altitude, this detachment,
This difference of a degree.
Men pretty and tall,
Ugly and short.
Big and small dots,
Dots in dots.
Is this the beauty
And the vision that god intended
I wonder ?
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