Thoughts in Cyprus

I sit here alone and naked on a balcony
My thoughts wander, I feel exhausted
The sun graces my space
And leaves me feeling wanted.
The space around me isn’t so clear
It’s filled with cigarette smoke and thoughts of my dear
In a way the fog helps me to refine
Open me up and unwind
Caught in a place so hard to define

My love sleeps as softly as sand on a shoreline,
Sheets of blue linen cocoon her
And her hair twists like gold leaves in the sun
But as I am leaving her side
She moves from pain deep inside

In the corridor the maid plays hit and miss with the suits,
She would never ever intrude,
She’ll never have a place to boast,
Only to exist like a ghost.
Her position is to clean that blue linen,
To provide and cherish anything she’s been given

At the concierge the boss smiles to his arrivals,
He’s got a grip on power and authority.
But knows not to argue or judge, only to please,
But soon those smiles become not so real,
In a world becoming ever so surreal.
He knows he’s no better than the next in line.

The tramp awakens to the bright of day,
Smiles as the sun shines strong,
Because the warmth isn’t on a level and outcasts nobody.
Knows nothing of wealth or prestige
Still, her hands shake as she holds her cup saying please.
And the fat man passes saying gosh I can’t see my knees