Stories

 

As the summer sun folds herself

into the creases of the earth, the

crescent moon colludes with the

gothic canopy of stars, an awning of

swirling blues melding into the orange bloom

in mystical union. A majestic miracle of

cosmic momentum. A grand yawning

universal cathedral of space and time.

 

Twilight air swoons lovingly

across the station, lifting my gaze

in the heat haze tremble of anticipation.

The blistering heat dissipates, as the

whispering breeze gently blows in,

feeling magical against skin.

Easing the sunburnt concrete,

and lifting the litter away.

Clearing masks of yesterday.

To leave new storied pathways

for feet to tread. New stories for eyes to read.

 

The sky a burning fire set alight,

before simmering down, ashes

at the feet of the towering night.

A monument of time, aeons blink

in distant starlight. As praying eyes

whisper silently, to their moonlight guide.

A gentle hand held to kicking belly,

feeling life growing inside of them,

soon to arrive. A new story soon to write.

 

And I see her smile

as the sky answers her back

with a wink of light.

 

The fluorescent flaying of station light,

severs the view for a second or two,

before a shadow dances across the concrete,

a silhouette against the ancient silver moon

rushing past to find a seat on the number 44.

To find their way home soon.

A story of brief interludes,

a solitary view of life becoming a

shared story between two.

 

Laughter sings through the songs playing

in my ears, as the twilight-years trio arrive,

same time every night, silver hair glistening

diamond-like under fluorescent light.

A risqué joke and a flirtatious smile,

a glint in wise eyes, and as the bus arrives

they disappear into the night.

Stories of life lived to the heights.

 

And I glance back at the darkening sky.

A glint of starlight falls across my eyes.

A wish drifting like cosmic butterflies.

A spoken word left sat upon the seat beside.

Listening to the hum of traffic,

under the songs blaring through my head,

and I think, I’ll catch a later bus instead,

life is too beautiful to waste cooped up,

and I have more stories to write.