Tayla Vannelli
Humanity once obeyed sunshine.
Gods were made to worship the powerful orb;
days lived only as long as the sun.
Outside was a necessity, an ignored factor.
No one realized the gift of feeling
raindrops, a tree against your back, wind.
Today, gray paint absorbs my soul.
A painting of nature taunts my desire;
my lock screen reminds me where I am not.
I never knew the blessing of a window
until I spent eight hours longing for truth:
night equal to the day, rain and sun unknown.
The monotony of fluorescent lights demands
retreat. With laptop in hand, I fly to that
table among the wind, trees, and sun.
An hour spent above, knowing the sky, but
phone calls and a dying battery urge me back:
to sit, once again, in the office without windows.
