The View
by Odin Roark

Peaceful to some
Depressing to many
Sanctuary’s canvas for one.

Such is the view
From his one-room flat,
A single window
Opening to an air-shaft world,
Its horizon of brick and mortar
Populated by stubborn cob webs and lint,
Defying an odiferous nature
Where plumbs of garlic laden air,
Humidity saturated age,
And purity’s diapered messages,
Complete the caldron of hardship’s reality.

But there also exists
The beckoning of imagination
Presenting a fly upon the window pane
Its wings of translucent turquoise
Creating water-like refractions
Off the meandering crack
Flowing without direction
Awaiting its shattered end.

Tomorrow he will awaken again,
Finding yesterday’s mind-creation
Awaiting the day’s contribution,
Additional strokes of life’s kaleidoscope,
Survival’s life support system
Mustering up more tenacity of will,
Trusting the heart’s ticking
Will echo forth into the singular updraft
Reminders of how precious breathing is,
The timeless reward of existence.