Demanding


The groundlings hover impossibly close to your breath
They want to borrow from your worldly charms
Just a small dose just so to understand that something
Insignificant as the aura of mystique
They wonder why you are you with the clean manners
That pretend to no undue thoughts nor anything untrue

The trouble is that the world is imagined in hues of blue
Steady rhythms, constant beats and the need for money
So they withdraw into servility through the doors of their senses
The arms, the legs, the hands grow into the numbness of labour
Fantastic faces smile at the sun pinching them craggy wrinkles
Alive to the worries of passing time demanding nothing more
 
 

Bevagna 27 4 2011