tale to tale

Dawn is for the doers,
An active ritual of ambition,
And I feel like a tourist here.

Pacing through the golden streets,
Treading ripe steps on waking concrete,
I see the ever confining city, expand.
Like a clenched fist opening for more.

I’m aware of the piece of me left behind,
Still covered under the sheets,
And indulging in electric dreams.
Today I’ve turned left, rather than roll right –
Into the freedom of the unknown.

But as I wade,
Through screeching bridges and withering trees,
The masses begin to march.
With stiffened faces and dry palms
They scour the streets for pearls.

The golden hour is turning murky,
And that moment of tranquillity fades,
It leaves behind a warming touch,
And an everlasting day.

This sudden change is better suited to my other half,
Conversations of constant ideas
And cravings of commercialilty.
As for this side,
I’ve just managed to escape, but only just.
I’m sheltering amongst Gods.