the revolving door

i watched the world go by
through a slow revolving door
the whisper and the sigh
as it's brushes swept floor
tiny patters on the glass
as raindrops fell like tears
and all the while
the world still passed
seconds turned to minutes
then to years

the mumble and the clatter
down the hall
of people rushing by
barely taking any notice
if at all
of the swishing and the patter
of the slow revolving door
or the murmuring and clatter
of their feet upon the floor

i glanced to left and right
to the painting then the door
and then saw such a sight
as i never had before
the twirling door stood still
and the rain it's pattering ceased
the murmur now was quiet
and no sounds of clicking feet

i stood and closed my eyes
then glanced about once more
the world was standing still
so i opened wide the door
outside the rain hung solemn
in a sky that slept quite still
not a flicker there of movement
no breeze or winter chill

i wandered though great cities
through the towns and countryside
no obstacles to stop me
the world was mercy to my stride
i saw the seven wonders
and the many more besides
i walked on waves, danced on clouds
and slept on frothy tides

in these moments or these hours
in these minutes or these days
i saw the world a thousand times
in five hundred different ways
each person and each object
each though perfect
still quite flawed
and then i went from whence i came
back through the turning door

i sat upon my chair again
and paused a moment more
then closed my eyes
opened them

and then i watched the world go by
through the slow revolving door.