The view from up here is magnificent, the possibilities endless

but it has to be beyond memorable to catch everyone’s eye

and make them sigh inwardly with a rush

of pleasure that they may have seen a piece of you

as they go on their way past the noise of seagulls

as they flap in God-like unison looking for the worms on the very bottom

where you actually reside and breath.

 

As they climb back down the stairs and every so often pause

to see how the view looks from a different perspective,

they figure that the hopefully impressive edifice that dominates

the skyline, is best suited to your aspiration at this juncture,

you are in their thoughts, more tightly, more sincere

but they would still live in the penthouse suite

on the very top floor, as you look up with a worm’s eye view.

 

Further down, the urge to rush to get to their next part of the tour

is overwhelming, they have dallied on this excursion

far too long and the view is never memorable the further down you go.

Office blocks and a worker pushing a pen

balancing his own figures and self worth

is never as stunning as breathing in the same air

as the fashionable seagull who rides the currents with ease.

 

Down on the bottom you exit the lift,

you thank the bellboy for his attention and deafening silence

and you remark on whether the view from the top

was worth it after all, yes the possibilities were endless

but so were the trees that blocked the view

of the impressive wood you had heard so much about.

Out into the clichéd real world and the safety of concrete

you step off the kerb without realising there is a basement in which to explore.

 

From inside this basement, I sit, never seeing the view from the top

but knowing that as I sit amongst the fallen and the plague

of words that hold the structure up with precarious

and terrifying precision, using up valuable breath

in the heat ridden closeted singular space,

tight fitting and claustrophobic,

that the view must be worth it.

 

Ian D. Hall 2015