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ashby-brownPoems
Sneezing transitions in mass transit routes Tram rocks underneath the black and blue sky Ahead of me is infinity Behind me the past,  sticky & stagnant - inescapable Smells of cat food unintelligible ***** Passed on hopes & forgotten dreams Cackling whistles of worn out break pads A man coughs as another rolls up his socks Next to me a man slumbers dreaming of home His wife in bed alone, his son's and daughter's Hide under thin white sheets, waiting for Him to phone The door creaks open, he'll wait for morning to speak Hazy recollections across glossy wet cobble stones Solidarity is the only way to work sometimes The sting of smoky nicotine flows up my nose Pushing past the marker of ill-received news Nights out drinking, talk and talk and talk More of the same as I frame the outcome summarily Atop the page is where the life is A rainfall of experience to purge this ****** emotion Labeling oneself does not mean defining oneself That is what the whiskey is for I hide behind a wall dripping with insecurity I fear, I love, I live, and one day, I will die Shuttle to a stop, bewaring of adjectives I have the urge to stay, but am the last to leave My eyes adjust to the soft orange glow of the streetlights And into the night living rather than dead So in place of the hours I believe I need Staying awake looking at these pen marks I need nothing for something only brings more worries Anxiety being a killer - I try to rid myself of the poison Humming up the stairs I attentive & aware There in the elevator savory sweet hickory perfume Another year away from an old place I called home Time passes slowly, as I slip in between the folds
0
Nov 17, 2012
Nov 17, 2012 at 3:02 PM UTC
Cornered on the Way Home
Sneezing transitions in mass transit routes Tram rocks underneath the black and blue sky Ahead of me is infinity Behind me the past,  sticky & stagnant - inescapable Smells of cat food unintelligible ***** Passed on hopes & forgotten dreams Cackling whistles of worn out break pads A man coughs as another rolls up his socks Next to me a man slumbers dreaming of home His wife in bed alone, his son's and daughter's Hide under thin white sheets, waiting for Him to phone The door creaks open, he'll wait for morning to speak Hazy recollections across glossy wet cobble stones Solidarity is the only way to work sometimes The sting of smoky nicotine flows up my nose Pushing past the marker of ill-received news Nights out drinking, talk and talk and talk More of the same as I frame the outcome summarily Atop the page is where the life is A rainfall of experience to purge this ****** emotion Labeling oneself does not mean defining oneself That is what the whiskey is for I hide behind a wall dripping with insecurity I fear, I love, I live, and one day, I will die Shuttle to a stop, bewaring of adjectives I have the urge to stay, but am the last to leave My eyes adjust to the soft orange glow of the streetlights And into the night living rather than dead So in place of the hours I believe I need Staying awake looking at these pen marks I need nothing for something only brings more worries Anxiety being a killer - I try to rid myself of the poison Humming up the stairs I attentive & aware There in the elevator savory sweet hickory perfume Another year away from an old place I called home Time passes slowly, as I slip in between the folds
Written by
ashby-brown
Nov 17, 2012
Nov 17, 2012 at 3:02 PM UTC
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