Poem -

Concrete

Concrete

The footpath folds like an envelope, 
in small places, where a skilled hand has
failed to assemble the walkway of life. 

The creases are symmetrical, 
holding the glory of questioning cement, 
abhorred by the passing of wet feet. 

The cracks of the pavement 
damage my bones as I walk,

struggling a step for you,

you,
up ahead,
paper-thin and
stroked delicately onto the landscape,
a brilliant figment of my imagination, 
an art piece of origami. 

I sink into the fold, blind,
unknowing if your heart
lends itself to the concrete;
in the paradox of perfection,
I am alone by man's creation. 

 

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