Monday, September 19, 2016

The High Place

It’s an odd view, far from the noisy tussles
I’m used to seeing on the road below.
To stand here takes a different set of muscles;
To stay here means descending is my foe.

Perspective is the only view that's clear—
I see inanes swallowed by the innate.
Trees shrink and forests blossom as I peer.
I feel a wind that shows me what has weight.

What was important face to face seems small
Now that I look down on it from above.
I find that there are different names to call
Familiar nouns; but only one verb: love.

To feel or offer it is my decision,
Like how and what I view explains to vision.

Copyright 2016 Matthew J Wells

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