the hand of the world
how do you see eye to eye with a monster of such proportion?
to glimpse behind these floodlights is to see the hand of the world.
i cannot crane my neck as high as the bronze spire wants.
the pinnacle, the flash of it, blends in with the sun.
if a leaf were caught in the spire, neither i nor it would know.
i cannot crane my neck as high as the bronze spire wants.
how do you see eye to eye with a monster of such proportion?
if a leaf were caught in the spire, neither i nor it would know.
how do you compare your place to that which you were never shown?
how do you see eye to eye with a monster of such proportion?
the elder tree queries the woodpecker and the fungus and the squirrel and the fox.
how do you compare your place to that which you were never shown?
the roots stretch too deep to reach the brisk currents below.
the elder tree queries the woodpecker and the fungus and the squirrel and the fox.
the pinnacle, the flash of it, blends in with the sun.
the roots stretch too deep to reach the brisk currents below.
to glimpse behind these floodlights is to see the hand of the world.
About the Creator
A. S. Novak
Based somewhere in Poland, a blank face. Dreams of studying abroad, no idea what, no idea where. Loves nature with a detached sort of appreciation. Finds the ordinary fascinating, when the mood is right. Random but candid, hopefully.
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