Taking a step is breathing in
every bus and passerby.
Every shove against the shoulder
is a wheeze inside my nose;
and the quick terror
of closing your eyes
for a brief splitting of
carbon and oxygen --
how much time is that?
-- is what gives you doubts
makes the step grow long
like the insides of a salt
and you reach quickly for your map.
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1 comment:
Blessings:
I like poetry as well. Here's one of mine.
"The Little Boy"
He stands on the street corner
his back
pressed against the wall
the little boy, too afraid to move.
Separated
he stands alone.
Hours have passed and
here he remains
unmoved.
The sounds of the city
buzz his ears, like angry bees
protecting their hive.
His eyes taking in everything
around him as it flashes by
as he stands
transfixed
the little boy, too afraid to move.
Fear
has rooted him here
as night crowds closer.
Still he remains
Witnessing the events of the evening
indecision clouds his mind.
Right? Left?
Straight ahead?
Frozen is
the little boy, too afraid to move.
A scream
over there
They see him
the little boy, too afraid to move.
He tries to run
but his legs are numb and heavy.
He tries to scream
but his voice is dry and hoarse.
They are almost upon him
but he can do nothing
and so dies
the little boy
too afraid to move.
your humble servant,
ancient clown
p.s. please visit to check out more in my poetry section.
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