Originating Frequencies

I do a bit of writing on top of the parking garage. So much that when tasked with creating an ode I selected those nights as the subject. The feeling of being up there alone is practically indescribable, and I don't even think that this ode did it any justice. I leave that as a reminder to myself so that I can revisit it later this year, but also so that you all can know it is truly magical.

Originating Frequencies
Shadoe Lass

Oh, silky sky way past thoughts of dusk.
Such an inky mess for me to draw from,
as the hours bleed and my hands become numb.
The words know that it is one,
and forth from my mind they come.
The plane knows because it runs.

Oh, parking garage on which I sit,
on a concrete throne with invisible pulpit
to deliver a speech in total silence.
Wrought by my thoughts, delivered by pen,
dealing with feelings that together are knit
in contemplation of how best to fit.

Oh, house of horrors inside of me,
come pouring forth, you're finally free.
The witching hour at one-plus eve,
that time of night is a sight to see.
And the whistling wind shows the skies breathe
It’s perfectly serene.

To the sounds on the ground below,
A mirror from heaven, terra-bestowed.
Data from all sides, without discernible source.
I call it a night and then call it close,
Because after one more lap, I start to slow,
And return to the “home” away from home.