Poem From The 2nd Floor Balcony

Ah, we live
too close to the ground!

If we listened
really listened to the birds
they would tell us everything

and if we listened to the morning
breezes in the branches
we would know there is Ocean
invisible Ocean all around

and if we gazed long enough
perhaps the sky would tell us
that we are all inside a robin's egg
waiting to be born

by Max Reif

Comments (3)

Lorca, The Dawn (NYC) The dawn of New York has four muddy columns and a hurricane of black pigeons splashing in putrid puddles. The dawn of New York moans through tall fire escapes looking among the edges for shards of anguish. Dawn comes and no one can swallow it because here there is no redemption and no hope. Sometimes swarming hoards of coins are enough to devour abandoned children. The first that wake know in their bones that today there will be no paradise or love found they know today they will be dragged down in the mire of numbers and laws in artless games and the fruitless sweat of their brows. Creeping crepuscular light captured by chains and noise in a swamp of irreverent rootless science, and in the boroughs the people wander half conscious like survivors of a catastrophe.
i liked this poem keep writing Mr lorca
Nice theme federico I like it