Waiting in line
For the train to pass
Storm clouds moving swiftly by

A man steps aside
Lights a smoke
Waiting for the train to go by

Impatience in the air
Traffic lights
Rushhour time

Tack, tack
The tracks shake
Electricity sizzles

Sun fighting for a chance
But the clouds dominate,
Rains held with a sigh

Waiting,
No one watches the clouds pass by,
Not enough time

Breathe,
Love, if you listen,
Breathe

When you die,
The trains,
The traffic lights

You won’t think of these
But of the clouds,
The gentle breeze.

Waiting
Waiting for our time,
We’re all ghosts walking by.

The train roars through
Hustle on
If you don’t stop,
The clouds will never see you pass by.

If it were one last night,
To write a final verse,
A single lullaby,
An ode or a melody

When the moon shines bright
Or clouds obscure the sky,
While the stars cold light,
Is hidden by city lights

The approaching night,
Bringing Winter’s bite.
A solemn night,
Of final fight

Softly spoken,
By heavenly flight,
This warm embrace,
Of you tonight.

Peace to an anxious mind,
A drop of water to the thirsty throat,
Breath for the drowning gasp,
Of this sacred night.

Sing me a song
Wintry night,
Of death and life,
Bitter ends and sunset lights.

A beautiful silence echoes this night.
Should morning wake,
Perhaps not,
A prisoner of the night I’ll stay.

If life were a cigar…
I’ve taken many slow drags,
Inhaled the sweet, smoky, earthy scent,
Held its warmth in my lungs,
Exhaled its smooth burn,
Watched the smoke leech through my skin,
Felt the cancer spread through,
At the cap it releases the soul left in me.
If life were a cigar…
It’s certainly going to be the death of me.

A House of Stones,
Built to last till time grows old,
To protect these bones,
Guarded by a sentinel who is alone.

These words trickle,
Through the stones,
Growing moss in the cracks,
Of this old home.

I wish I could go home,
An ache that is deeper now.
Strange as it sounds,
My places of stones is my only home.

All around me are strange sounds,
Smiling faces that surround,
All met with stoney calm
And the sentinel.

The hearth cradles my heart,
Though winter has been long,
It still warms the house.
However the entry is still incomplete.

The lock is complex and I’ve lost the key.
Forgive me,
All seeking entry,
The stones are not for you to see.

It’s a place of sanctuary and grief,
Set upon understanding,
At the roads of vigilance and fatigue.