Walk to Class

Most days I look and all I see is cement
cold, hard, ashen, gray brick

not death exactly, but something like it
sterile, harsh boxes designed to separate one life from another
It is not that life is gone
only that I forget to notice it
to look up and see the sun
to look left and see the geese, the pine trees
to look right and see a pregnant woman

to look down and see weeds growing through cracks

I'm surrounded by life, filled with life

born from stars
a part of the web and all that
but life

yes life itself

has become
routine at best and backdrop at worst