A peddler strolls by and opens his jacket so
Fringed and de-hemmed by years of practice
Each pocket a carrier for emotions held captive
Yet the rise in his voice shows a seller proactive
His face reflected the age of sweet old
To pick and choose, each product seems bold
A timepiece to shimmer with lost-alloy gold
Or perhaps a locket with photographs sold
"To hope is to dream; do not fear or capitulate"
He states so methodically yet his words calmly resonate
"All my items are free, but to you, they are fate,"
To finally feel that they one day will sate

Train tracks lead to predetermined places
Different directions, different faces
Exist to the right, exit left
Fluttering in one's peripheral, leaving traces
Daylight passed, nights so moonlight bereft
Of cloud cover to be cloven, the unconcerned brace
In the sky above what is known as home
Wherefore, each break shepherds individuals
As still as a garden gnome
Stoic as a preserved throne
Phlegmatic as a slowly melting icicle
In a cave that no one knows about
Exist to the right, life is what is left
Learning and yearning for that so disconcerting
Yet the biggest and most impactful
Inspiration
To live, not only to exist

The wonders of the world
Fringing train track paths

Cities of concrete gold
Buses with lingering laughs

Conductors wave to asphalt old
Birds flutter in stone-cold baths

Colors become slightly more bold
As windows sweep the street light past

river poets meandering
through stacks of golden hay
water rolling over jagged rocks
as night turns to day
pen to paper, written later
reeks of means to hesitate
ocean writers flicking lighters
humming through to meditate
when your chest is getting tighter
smoke through cigarette haze

Like a lion's roar
Like a bird that soars
Like an antique store

You are so much more

Like cityscape skylines
Like a lake with ice so fine
Like a bench to outrun time

You somehow plague my mind

But I don't care for the cure

Here we are again
Humming songs
That we don’t understand
Everything in the world
In the universe
In the palms of our hands
Technologically advanced
Hop-skip-happy-dance
An industrial trance
To have seen the land
The world
The universe
Before our haphazardly
Set up idiosyncrasies
When the earth had nothing
But herself to please
What was it like?