SweepingFloors

by John Smallshaw
(London, England)

Some o' that
Would look quite nice upon the walls within my flat.

With the mountains all around me
I sit in silence.
And I am free.

The valleys far below where I no longer go
Fade.
Underneath the overhanging rocks
I find the shade I need
Vestiges of a former greed.

I look towards and to the sky
A blue glass ceiling.
I wonder why it's so.
I think I'd like to go beyond and wander,yonder,far away.

Here up high there is no fear
Just solitude, which I have chosen.

One that came so long ago to play the game and could not know
The end was always near
Up high,there is no fear.

And my thought is nought against the mountain stone.
Alone,there is no fear.
But my mind would squander distant lands of which I've seen but few
Yet know the sky out there is also blue
And peopled just the same
As I, who came to play this game.
What difference then? I ask
That their task be so much greater than mine.
Another line within this platform game.

So mountains rise to poke fun at my skies
But then they crumble
Dusting off their dusty feet they also meet the man that dies
Alone and yet in company.
A stone in my eternity.

Some o' that
Would look quite nice upon the walls within my flat.
Wallpapered and looking clean
The astonishingly textural mountain scene.
Alas the pass which I went through is no longer there
So my vision of a loneliness, alone,
I cannot share.
I bear the cross and show the shame
A loser,loser in
The game.