Ivory Towers

A thousand ivory towers sit clumped

tight together.

They fill up the valley below and

spread over the plains of grass as

the river cuts through.

The tops reach higher than the birds

can fly,

Deep into the clouds they pierce

until they scrape the moon as it slowly

passes by each night.

Standing next to a tower

I look up from far below.

Alone.

With a hesitant hand I reach out

And touch the ivory wall.

So smooth and slick like glass as

my fingers run up its length.

Not a crack, not a crevasse

To reach a finger into.

This wall cannot be climbed.

Who dwells in such a high place?

Do they converse across the way,

or do they ignore each other as much

as they do me every day?

Such a lonely place to call home.

These towers seem to me more

like an escape from  the life below.

Where I stand.

If they only understood.

Fortune favors the fool.

by Philip Wardlow 2013