Spectacula Rerum
There is a tiny world we often dislocate,
Outright ignore,
And sometimes completely recreate.
This world is all around us,
An abstract notion, curious and chorused.
Praised and forgotten.
It is the embers of a cigarette,
Playing wistfully in the shade of night.
It is the joy of watching someone you love,
Knowing they love you back.
It is the morning, or evening,
You’ll never have again,
In the company of best friends.
It is the joy of coming home to your dog,
Every single day.
It is the moment you spend alone,
Content in silence - unaware of time,
As it slowly moves along.
It is the pattern of spilt paint,
The web of broken glass,
It’s the rising of the sun,
And the beauty of a full moon.
It is the sheet of a cloudless night-time sky,
Sprinkled by stars.
It is a world you only notice,
When your senses are heightened,
By love for life, and all things therein.