Inspiration comes from many places
But they all elude me today
Unable to feed on negative ions
My imagination cannot find its way

As I survey this crowd of people
They are so different, so distant
They all just sit in groups and chat
I wonder at how they enjoy that.

I cannot small talk although I'm good at big talk
Noone wants to talk about unsettling real things
Fish swim in the pond
A songbird, ignored, sings.

Insects fly as friendships die
Or wither on the sea of age
As waves collide and icebergs die
I hunt the centaur of imagination
Through the jungles of my mind.

Written while sitting by the pond in the area of our school incorrectly called the 'quad' - we do *have* a quad (open area with walls on all four sides), this area is walled on three sides only, with a fish pond cut in the concrete that the Y7s would try and drown themselves in by walking right along the edge of. Now it's had half a graphics lab built on it and no-one sits there any more. Hooray for progress (sarcasm warning).
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