The silence in a place where cars pass every thirty minutes to and hour,
where there is not a taste of snow in the winter,
as I sit in a red chair in the still dark of the night,
everyone sleeping or otherwise too drunk to even know the time.
I sit where no one can see me, alone, I stare at the sky,
the dark blue night to which it entertains me for just a while.
Be it satellites or stars, I see them,
if there is a moon let it take me to dream of another world, in another place and time.
Closing my eyes I smell some freshness in the air, feel the chill of the morning.
As I open my eyes, I'm back again staring at the sky, listening to the soundtracks of crickets, and for a moment the stillness of the night.
0 Comments
Your comment will be posted after it is approved.
Leave a Reply. |
The Written Works
All
Archives
February 2015
|