I Stare at Walls

You know,

I stare at walls – a lot

It’s the olivines, pyroxenes,

garnets and feldspar trapped

within the polished slice of history,

pre-history most likely,

buried for billions of years, stifled,

suffocated until the quarry saw

sliced its way through the quartz,

the crystals, the frozen veins,

freeing it, letting it breathe,

letting it see the sunshine.

 

Now it’s spruced up, sparkling,

polished to a gleam,

a wall of colour looking down

on dull concrete and glass – bitumen,

fibreglass and plastic;

glistening mica, pink and white

feldspar, ruby garnets, green

olivines – and big crystals,

the size of a fridge,

cooled for years, the heaved upwards

or eroded close to the surface.

Perhaps they were in a magma chamber waiting to fly,

but now…

Perhaps life didn’t exist when it died, frozen deep

beneath the surface, but now…

 

just a harmless adornment on St Georges’ Terrace,

it’s false smooth surface a window into the planet.

About George Fripley
I am a writer who enjoys writing humour, satire, poetry and sometimes a bit of philosophy. I live in Perth, Western Australia and occasionally get a poem or article published. It's all good fun! I have two books available for unwary readers, Grudges, Rumours and Drama Queens- The Civil Servant's Manual (This contains all that anybody could ever want to know about why government runs so slowly) and More Gravy Please! - the Politician's Handbook. (available through Amazon)

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