Outside the cigar shop is an elderly man
he is leaning against a parking meter
fumbling the quarters he pulls from his deep pockets
and dropping them into the machine
the metal clinking as it accepts the change
and only reading 20 minutes
the old man scowls at the meter and puts in more coins
until it reads 1 hour
he digs around in his pockets and turns them inside out
he has no more
grumbling to himself, he pushes away from the meter
entering the cigar shop
and I'm left sitting in my car wondering
how we can spare some change for more time
for the things that will lessen the time we already have

Within the confines of the office building
is a dark and dusty stairwell.
Used less and less by those unwilling
to take a trip no longer fulfilling
as the elevator is easier and does not smell
and it moves too quick so one can't dwell
on the feelings that flow like an ocean swell.
But there's a fear a machine is instilling
for if there are a sudden halt and no dinging bell
and one is stuck when the power is killing
itself; would one think of those stairs so very chilling
and what their day would be if they took the stairwell?
Would they even survive to share a tale they can't tell?
Or will the cables break and they'll arrive faster in Hell?
It'd be too late for souls to know they were unwell.

The lack of control is frightfully thrilling.
No one tells them why they fell.

To avoid the hurt welling u    p in my chest
I needed to keep moving t    o avoid it
So I climbed my way to t    he top
of the cruel mountainsi    de
while rain fell down o    n
my pale, wincing fac    e
and I laced my fing    ers
together in a sort o    f
embrace and shiv    ers
began to race up     my
spine, so with h    aste
I began to pac    e on
top of slick r    ock
not paying     attention
to where I     was stepping
and I slip    ped and fell
the tears     began to well
up in m    y eyes
no sur    prise
I bro    ke myself again
whi    le I was trying
to    hide
f    rom
    him

A mist persists as the sun rises.
It's dense enough to be a fog
like the kind that blankets an Autumn night
when the air holds the water too tight.
A shadow sits on a pile of logs.

Seated in defeat a woman rests her weary feet.
Head bowed low, hands knitted together;
then pulling them apart like undoing an errant stitch.
A frown marring her face as she can't help but twitch
as the early morning breeze mocks Summer's weather.

It'd be better if her sweater wasn't woolen fetters.
Its looping pattern looked more like grey chains
meant to keep the early morning shivers contained
but they're too loose so no heat remained.
Her teeth chattered, blood cooling in blue veins.

The cool breeze eases until it ceases.
The woman rubs her shaking arms with withered hands.
Light and warmth start to spread as the sun climbs the sky
burning away the fog that sheltered all from the eye.
With energy and suddeness, the woman stands.

In her field of vision is life's final decision.
Something only she can see when the time is right.
What she saw the summer morning, no one can say for sure
but it appears to all she disappeared and no longer had to endure
the rest of the world's plight.