The view from up here is magnificent, the possibilities endless
but it has to be beyond memorable to catch everyone’s eye
and make them sigh inwardly with a rush
of pleasure that they may have seen a piece of you
as they go on their way past the noise of seagulls
as they flap in God-like unison looking for the worms on the very bottom
where you actually reside and breath.
As they climb back down the stairs and every so often pause
to see how the view looks from a different perspective,
they figure that the hopefully impressive edifice that dominates
the skyline, is best suited to your aspiration at this juncture,
you are in their thoughts, more tightly, more sincere
but they would still live in the penthouse suite
on the very top floor, as you look up with a worm’s eye view.
Further down, the urge to rush to get to their next part of the tour
is overwhelming, they have dallied on this excursion
far too long and the view is never memorable the further down you go.
Office blocks and a worker pushing a pen
balancing his own figures and self worth
is never as stunning as breathing in the same air
as the fashionable seagull who rides the currents with ease.
Down on the bottom you exit the lift,
you thank the bellboy for his attention and deafening silence
and you remark on whether the view from the top
was worth it after all, yes the possibilities were endless
but so were the trees that blocked the view
of the impressive wood you had heard so much about.
Out into the clichéd real world and the safety of concrete
you step off the kerb without realising there is a basement in which to explore.
From inside this basement, I sit, never seeing the view from the top
but knowing that as I sit amongst the fallen and the plague
of words that hold the structure up with precarious
and terrifying precision, using up valuable breath
in the heat ridden closeted singular space,
tight fitting and claustrophobic,
that the view must be worth it.
Ian D. Hall 2015