Philosophical

The sun rises and sets over the asylum for the insane
But time does not pass for its inhabitants
For the outside world is real
And only real people have problems
Like growing old

It is a beautiful sight -
The dark place against the side of the hill
The light of the turning day catches it softly
As the elegant shadows first bend long
Touching the corners of the streets

Rolling in the pockets of the weathered oak trees
Planted in lines by good people long deceased
They fill the neighbourhoods with an ambience
Palatable with earth and decay
And aged stories

But rats run to make the world go round -
They barely notice that the ones with wings
Are the very same ones that they have at home
And by being true to the nature of any avian
One closes its eyes gracefully before dying

Pigeon Eyes