Marks on the Horizon

It's all coming
together it seems,
as we walk
through
the Victorian Age
freshly appreciative.

Except high rises
on all sides
fulminating against us,
clinging
like
sheets
on the washing line
in heavy wind.

And we wonder whose up there
screaming decisions,
and wonder
if they know.

The heavy conditions,
the bad decisions.

We like walking
the buildings,
the marks on
horizons seen from
mountaintops,
the vast experiments,
the multitude of colours they
created.

(New peoples walk the earth)

But we lost the game years ago -
we were never in it.
Still it's hard to stop playing -
how to go about it?

We wonder on our breaks,
not really able to do anything else.