Flat life

Buru

The ceiling remains blank still
Unresponsive to staring eyes,
Time and life
Have yet to shape it.
It looks down on me
White and indifferent,
Uninterrupted by shadows or lamps.
A lone electric bulb hangs,
It blinks and dangles
Like a hung corpse,
As the girl upstairs
Pitter-patters about
Pit-a-pat
Pit-a-pat
Pit-a-pat...
Her small feet thud across
The weathered floors
Like soldiers in a battleground.
She runs back and forth
Chasing boredom
(and also yelling it away)
It's youth trapped in
Looking for a way out.
The memory almost brings a smile...
At some point I could understand this,
Before inside became
The place of choice
And all running died...
I scribble in these pages
As directionless as she is
Openly hoping for her to stop
As I have stopped
So many lifetimes ago...
Feet cut off
And taught to smile
A tree, a potted plant,
A fortress of grounded life.

Buru.

PS. Gotta love this flat-life...

This one is a bit better than Bubbles (previous effort), I think...