deepundergroundpoetry.com
the seeing eye
The Seeing Eye
This nature I see is mine it doesnīt belong to anyone else,
those winding roads with cracked asphalt, there has been
an earth disturbance at some faraway place, perhaps China
or cracks in the memory of the elderly.
Silence in the landscape of mine emits an aroma of forest
is green as the vine, ghostly as haze over a lake and hums
like a vanishing echo of a childhood lost by those who had
grown up too quick and could no longer chase rainbows.
I drive west or east, or if the wind blows it is renewed and
I must leave as I canīt keep it, more than I can keep
the golden bird with brown wings that flies in front of me.
This nature is a part me and canīt be shared, as your mind
has its observations and sense of what is amazing.
This nature I see is mine it doesnīt belong to anyone else,
those winding roads with cracked asphalt, there has been
an earth disturbance at some faraway place, perhaps China
or cracks in the memory of the elderly.
Silence in the landscape of mine emits an aroma of forest
is green as the vine, ghostly as haze over a lake and hums
like a vanishing echo of a childhood lost by those who had
grown up too quick and could no longer chase rainbows.
I drive west or east, or if the wind blows it is renewed and
I must leave as I canīt keep it, more than I can keep
the golden bird with brown wings that flies in front of me.
This nature is a part me and canīt be shared, as your mind
has its observations and sense of what is amazing.
Published 16th Jul 2013
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