I used to walk a grimy road
Where litter ruled with cobblestones.
A thick mad mush of plastic waste
Crushed the spirit of youthful buds,
Shielded all green from needed rain,
So no flower-tales could unfold.

No sooner than my latest wandering
Did I grasp this lifeless paste—
Its purpose is neither shine nor shimmer,
But to slow the flower’s blooming pace.

For no buds can bloom when the masses rule,
When their collective mind stains all with hate.

When one loses grip
They must lower the bar just
To hang on to life

While ***** buzzes my brain,
I waddle and stumble but—
Pale palms meet my arms,
Shielding me gently.

Heavy tones dissolve,
Evaporate;
For it is her
Keeping me in place.

Her grip on my sleeves
Ignites no lust, but trust—
Time slows its ticking pace;
As her tender hands
Sink into my sweater sleeves,
Soothing, steady,
Making me stay.

I stumbled upon her—
Fell in love
Again.

Clueless she was,
Truly—

Her pearls in wonder,
Lacking attention.

None of her gazes
Meet my wandering mind.

For it was her,
The cause—

My worldview ponders,
Troubling affection.

Uncharted hazes
Seek to revise my life.

Desperate calls,
Futile—

We are no longer.

Guilty redemption,
Your teary razes
Made me perfectly blind.

Blind to what was left
Of our desired life.

Lift her up in the light.

Rejuvenate old wrinkles.

Forgotten stories awaken,

Bloom once more.

I can’t help but glance again at
Mrs. Metro.
I bet she’s also into reading.
It’s in the way she holds that phone—
Four fingers aligned,
Slightly tilted downwards,
Leaving little space between them,
The usual grip of a story.

She must be passionate,
Mrs. Metro,
About the little things.
I can tell by her voice,
Its melody shifting
Between highs and lows,
The sound of a soul that cares,
Even for those who don’t.

Mrs. Metro
Meets my glance
When I pass her,
Drawing close.