Through the windows

So strange a stride, weathered yet strong
A slow steadied beat, each move assured and just
As if calculated well before time

The swiftness of a thought abound
As wolves hunt a pack a prey
Conditioned to counter the vast reserve
Steadfast in the arctic sun

A fog envelopes, blind as night
With no moon to guide, yet the stride
Never misses a beat, nor the cane a divide

A world of fantasy, love and hope
Flowers square with walking trees,
Yet the sane huddle in a corner stone
While pride moves up the sheet

Into the blue, with a skip and a dance
For hasn’t it been all along
Accustomed to rays of light in the blackest of the nights.

A scalpel art of love divine
Light to light and dark to black
A new meaning, a new world
Monotony within the economies of the large

No more sure, is the left step the first
Why have the flowers lost their charm
A world seen through one single sight
Longing to return to those beautiful sights