Lot

I used to sit there, on the hill.
And look down at people below.
But still
There is so much about them I can never know.

There were books I used to read.
But every so often
The need
To look up suffocated me.
I was tired of the dulling words.
Which I had read so many times before.
The pages had turned yellow from exhaustion
And I just wanted to read no more.

And in front of me, it doesn't matter how far how far
I saw -
Such earthy eyes, as mine widened in surprise.
And to think I was at the centre
Of the gaze.

At that time I assumed
It was my book, a popular one
Which must have been the source of interest.

I could never have guessed
Otherwise.

So I held onto my fiction
My dream in paper form
My silent addiction
Torn at the binding
Yet still I'm whole.

But after a while, I did get bored.
It was almost as if
I knew the last page just from the name
I knew the last word just from the first
But still I was as disjointed as Faust unrehearsed

Oh I wished I could end my sorrows like Werther
But then I realised I'd have to look much further
For the magic lantern without light
For the shadow which shines so bright

I used to sit there on that hill
And look down on people below
And I realised that it was I who needed to shrink
And not them to grow.