What do you see from your lofty perch
as you gaze with haughty disdain?
What is captured in your bird's eye view?
alert for the smallest grain
or crumb of comfort
by the ant like humans below
whose lives are a drudge
that they carry around
as the seasons come and go.
The rich pickings of summer
are swept into autumn
like leaves that are shriveled and dry
Yet still you keep watch
from your cloud covered throne
not yet ready to fly
from the drama unfolding
new every day
with connections not yet understood
and a tear forms at the corner
of your little bead eye
as you recall another who perched
with a view much like yours
and who wept at the sight
of the lost and the lonely and weary souls
with no hope in their hearts to bring light.
One who could see, as you're seeing now
that it's not the way it should be
if they'd only look up
all would be changed
by the love that sets prisoners free
and drab, weary lives
would be transformed by joy
and colour would steal through the gray
and the rainbow reflected
in the puddles of life
would herald the dawn of a new day.