two
towers
Why do they
propel me upward—seek to elevate me?
What do they wish me to see from sky-high, windowless offices?
Down here, my
scope is limited,
but tangible; reachable.
I feel the coolness
of shadow and
gaze out at possibility.
At ground level
the path is uncertain,
rolls out in exquisite deliberate suspense.
Down here I
am a Strider. I know I cannot fly.
Why should I pretend? Look at distant towers from on high?
-- Adrian
Hoad-Reddick