I am an island

It is a bleak time , this morning thing. A manic push with faces sour

A grey-grim gloom as though a cloud should hand long o’er this morbid shower

Yet I have a clear recollection of a brighter time with a glimpse of the sun

I am that face in the crowd with a smile, the one who heralds clarity when the day is done

 

Still shuffling feet the chain-clad throng, all eyes lowered firm to the ground

Or focussed on a middle-distanced view, move slowly on with ne’er a sound

And yet, spinning round in the centre, I look through the cloud to the blue behind

I am an island here, a beacon to the pleasure that waits for the grey to find.

©Jemverse

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