He sits silently by the window, on his own
by Roger Marshall
Looking out with resignation towards the sun
And bathing in a powerful undertow of light.
Though his body’s harnessed, yet his soul takes flight
To where two gulls appear to re-enact
The tale of starry-eyed Icarus and his dad.
Behind him rocking chairs sway gently to and fro
And mugs of tea are clasped in shaking hands
While a clock on the wall has let its time run slow
And monotone yet gaudy dreams are flickering wild
before a room of staring eyes and sleeping minds.
Before him stretch adventures, long craved but never had,
The sea, salt air and tall sails filling out -
A now futile, mocking even, “invitation au voyage”.