As I woke up this morning
I was greeted by this sight
(I say when I woke up,
This was not
When I opened my eyes,
But rather two cups of coffee
And a shower later.)
The Isle of Skye.
A place of beauty,
Serenity, and other nice words
That end in –Y.
There are five of us here
And it is our own private escape
From reality. In my mind however
I can’t help but feel
That this place is more real
Than any other place
I’ve been too.
The “hustle and bustle
Of inner city living” is monotonous,
And inevitable, yet stopping
And looking out
At this wonderful place,
You are hit by the impression
That there is more life out here
In these remote Isles
Than in any of the over-populated cities.
There are of course many parallels
Between these two separate worlds,
Cars going from A to B,
Sheep in fields doing the same task
Over and over, day after day.
The only difference that I can see
Is that the sheep seem to have
An oblivious sense of contentment
Within their routine lives.
This is not a parallel
To the accountants,
To the bus drivers,
To the care-workers,
They may be drawn into routines
In their lives, but looking at them
They do not seem happy; they work
Through their lives with death
In the back of their minds
As an inevitable end goal.
Whereas the sheep,
While death is still inevitable,
And somewhat predictable,
They just don’t think about it.
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