Run On

Pane sits on the window and looks out to the sky, where dark clouds roll freely from the edge of the world to the opposite horizon and rays of stray sunlight beam down - creating the illusion of inspiration.

Pane sits on the window and looks to the ground, where green grass shirks under the shadow of sullen skies and the pits of fallen plums plot their next move.

Pane sits on the window and looks inside. There he finds me in a blur, hunching over books and papers - or else over my own knees begging half-heartedly for understanding.

Pane sits and takes a breath, swinging and dangling his legs in the way only he can. Watching the world from a window, he smiles and sobs in turn - perhaps knowing much more about life then those fortunate fools who claim to live it.