The constant stream

 

They come and go.

A river of faces flow,

the colourful waterway races,

whilst below this weeping tree,

I sit, a still mournful shadow.

 

The ebbs and flows

as the water

slowly rises

to ragefully stormy tides,

then subsides,

my mind takes long boat rides,

feeling the rhythm awaken the insides.

 

Beside the banks,

I sit in internal conversation,

watching the frothing waves.

Sleepily shaving away

minutes of the day.

Gentle aromas

of pastry and coffee

briefly help me see my surroundings more clearly,

before the steam and condensation

fogs my glasses obscuring 

the constant stream

ever so slightly.

Coffee shop window seat,

complete with flowers to deceive

the winter into believing

it had emerged too soon.

Caressing a warming cup of tea.

Wrapped snuggly, lovingly in this

bubble cocoon, I feel strength

beginning to rise from my aching toes,

taking detours through my body

to repair the worn-down bones

Letting it revive me from my frail

stumbling stride,

inspiring the art that beats inside.

 

Outside the window,

the ever-flowing tide.

Not stopping, not breathing,

just forcing their lungs

to help keep their feet 

 marching to their beats in time.

 

 

Thanks for reading
Follow this link for more.
https://linktr.ee/Wordsandfluff

 
You can find my New books
"Tales from the 44A" and "Stations
here
https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0DBKXPN13/
and here

https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B0DFV8N7XH

 

Please buy a copy if you can

it would really help me
continue to do this.

Peace, Love & Poetry
Kyle

 

marching to their beats in time.