Under The Hues Poem by David Harris

From my chair by the window,
there are many things I can see.
Through the gap between the houses
on the other side of the street,
a glimpse of a harbour
with small boats tugging at their moorings
trying desperately to be free
while silhouetted under the moonlight.

Beyond the harbour lies the city
with its urban sprawl.
Thousands of stories about lives
whom under its umbrella live.
From their peaceful days
and the ones carpeted under continuing squalls.
The new and the old
share the same spotlight.

The yellow streetlights
make poor imitation suns.
Their protracted idea of no shadows
only dims the light on some
in the early morning hours.
The streets are quiet and bare
and for a few hours,
cars lie asleep outside their homes.

The story goes on and on
under the hues of each day
and lives change.
Some for the better and some for the worse.
Some call it a rat race
while others call it their home.
Regardless what we call it,
within it, life goes on.

1 March 2009