deepundergroundpoetry.com

Central Park

For a moment, what we see about us  
Appears certain and composed,    
    
Where people move with an ease      
Of drifting waterlilies, as if suggesting  
An oasis among mausoleums.    
     
"Perhaps this isn't natural," you say,      
Suspecting a new language has taken over    
The horticulturist's dream—  
     
And you still believe this, while drowsily      
Sitting around vast, obsidian pools,    
     
Ignoring the day's essentials, as riderless    
Boats scud across the murky water.
Written by Sartoris
Published | Edited 6th Jun 2019
Author's Note
Reflecting on my first, relatively brief, encounter with the city (September 2018.)
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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