The picturesque (poem)

A morbid longing for the picturesque

I crave it more than anything

And I find it’s been exploited 

For all they want is to hold my attention for a little longer

My screen pulls me in

It beckons and calls at every dull moment 

It’s learned of my longing

So it shows me what I want to see

Gray foggy mornings

Old musty libraries

Cold cities at night

And I sit and I wish

I wonder how happy I could be if only I had access to such beauty

I dream of a life in which I’m surrounded by the picturesque

So as I sit and fixate and dream, only to miss the true nature of my circumstances

The fact that my morbid longing could be fulfilled

I simply need look out my window.