Perspective
The world will not end today.
The walls of my house will not crumble
and the plants will not push themselves
through my numerous cracks;
the insubstantial edifice of my life.
Nor penetrate the windows
to let in the cold North Eastern breeze.
One day, inevitably, these things shall pass
like the textile mills that stand still
at the centre of my town.
I walk past the padlocked gates,
the patched-up windows,
and I look at the trees poking up
from the disused chimney pots
watch the birds as they take flight.
My feet feel firmly fixed to the ground
and I maintain that the world will not end today.
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