creative writing, love, poetry, rhyme

Through the window.

window


I stand at the sash window,

Looking out on clear moonlight;

In the middle of the city,

But in the silence of the night.


The distant hum of a motor;

Leaves rustle in the breeze,

But the houses stand so still

On this August ‘summer’ eve.


The silhouettes of rooftops

Etched out upon the hill,

Victorian homes and Georgian ones;

Framed through the windowsill.


I stand here, quiet with wonder,

Looking out upon the night –

Bay windows and some sash ones,

Burning with an amber light.


These streets hold so much history

Of generations before,

Before they were converted

And whole families roamed four floors.


The chimney stacks remain,

Though no smoke now will you see,

From our little attic flat;

My first home at twenty three.


But, just for one moment,

When outlines are all I can see,

I pretend it’s 1921

And how these streets would be.


Those amber lights in the windows,

Are open fires burning bright;

As children sit with homemade toys

And wooden tops bring such delight.


The dim Victorian street lamps

Which now watch over parked cars,

Would navigate the way

For a motorbike and cart.


I stand at the sash window

Upon which the whole moon shines,

And realise that these city streets

Will stand the test of time.


livingthroughlines 2017.

creative writing, love, poetry, romance, Uncategorized

The power of impossibility 

A blanket upon my shoulders;

Our heads tilted towards the sky.

The glass pane separates 

These two worlds.

Within ours, the lights go dark 

And we stare towards the unknown. 

Gentle and distant, fire burns

As we watch mesmerised.

How lucky, we say, 

That we witness such precious skies. 

How magnificent, we gasp,

At the history we look upon. 

And it is to you, I ask 

Just why the night sky

Stirs such emotion in us all?

Those distant flickers 

Allow us to believe in anything. 

And it is to myself, I answer 

That it is their sheer impossibility 

Shining so bright,

When they are all but lost, dead and gone

That baffles us all. 

And we are left as specks

Upon the earth

Hoping that just maybe,

Anything at all is possible. 

 

livingthroughlines 2017.