Traffic

He waits for me in the shadows

And beckons me to meet him

in the sweetest of dreams

He is the lover that I have yet to know

I cannot touch him but I feel him every day

As the traffic moves from lane to lane

Fast and slow

I hear my name in a whisper

And I listen hard for that familiar sound

In crosswalks and corridors

Looking around each corner

I think of him everytime I open a door or turn a page

Knowing one day I will feel his lips brush against mine

My search feels empty at times

But when I am ready

The light will change

And the clock begins to sing its chime

The sun will illuminate the face I long to see

And a new journey will begin

No Smoking

Ashes fallen on a bar room floor, a reminder of painful past and stresses of the day. Passers by kick aside, unaware of the black and gray streaked across the floor. I guess it’s easily overlooked, but as the ashes are blown away to nothing but dust, but my awareness of something drawn deep within someone’s breath and blown out without thought, is someone’s life is slowly fading away.

Goes to show reality is never escaped, just eluded for a while. Aware of ashes kicked aside could the reality be grasped? What if love be drawn in like cigarettes? Inhaled deep within our lungs surrounding our hearts, healing the pain making us strong, so that there’s no more ashes on the floor

Etha 5/6/99
Rewrite 1/5/13