A poem by Alan Whitfield: Festive May

A poem by Alan Whitfield

Festive May

With cans turned on
alone I stand in the amphitheatre
Close to a power
I don’t understand.
Inclusion in something
I may once have walked by.

Eyes glued on the marks
spine tingling peaks of power.
A short burst.
Still quenching my new thirst.
Like a new life
to be so close.
Making you walk
inches higher than most
for the priceless projection delivered.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.