harborside

when we forget the world is big
 we lose a sense of who we are;
 perspective's meant to keep us moored
 so we won't drift away as far
 as i have done, these last few years --
 and, maybe, you have done as well --

we're birds, or waves, or clouds at best,
 and it takes sky to feel how far we fell.

a cry across the harbor now,
 the glare from still erupting sun,
 the wisps of something far and fast,
 another busy day begun --

do you resist your place in this?
 are you, like me, recalcitrant?
 must we walk on to feel our legs,
 and crane to see how far's been our

 descent?

Published by

Beleaguered Servant

Owen Servant is an online poet working in a style that's been described as "compulsive". In real life, he is an actuary, because being a poet wasn't unpopular enough.

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