Smoky clouds of fog

Rise silently from the world below

My window.

A vision upon the black top,

The smell of fresh rain

On tar

Settles my mind.

The people below, scurry

Umbrellas in hand,

Dashing to jobs or appointments,

Not noticing

The sweetness of that smell.

They don’t,

They can’t remember

That once as humans

That smell signaled hope,

The chance to grow food,

The chance for drink,

To keep you alive.

The black top jungle

claims it’s monkeys,

Their cars scream out

This is my turf.

If they move faster,

Maybe they’ll get there

Before you.

It’s sad they can’t see

The steam, smell the damp.

Cause when they get there

First and alone,

That smell,

that sight,

Is all they’re left with.

Then the world

Will hold it’s breath.

And hope they will

Finally understand

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About Derek Rizzo

Author and poet since I remember, I finally decided to live my dream. I'm writing a fantasy novel. Follow-me to share my progresses and glimpses of my story as it comes to life.

Posted on February 7, 2013, in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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