Wednesday, April 6, 2016

A musing on the Great Institution

A poem by Austin Schiano

In the serene solitude of New York's 1st Avenue.
In front of the United Nations.
A breeze always seems to blow. 
And as we walk. 
With heavy idealism.
We are anxious to ride the zephyr.
Still, we are apprehensive.
Worried at that which we do not know.
Worried where the winds may take us. 
Still we leap into the infinite blue hope.
Exerting our heavy eyelids on reports of red dirt.
In the wish that we may wash it with white linen.