#48
Shell
Why do I feel a sky so blue,
with trees groaning their ancient wood,
and cars fly down roads in a blur?
But the mountains have stayed hidden.
The wind skips a beat,
but why do I sing an ocean so old
as waves crash down on the shore
and people stare at the horizon?
Why am I further away from myself
than the clouds from their lost friends
who roam gray moors endlessly?
After all, without myself I am just a shell.