Poem 10 – Brooklyn Bridge

Yellow taxi cab

Endless time

No destination, only forward —

I climb on top

of the car,

the world.

Under the Brooklyn Bridge I see only

light;

love;

snow;

heat;

ice;

fish;

Gods;

order;

hail;

chaos.

The buildings greet me like an old friend,

and we reminisce together

slowly, softly

in the moonlight.

Cold, bitter, windy light

penetrates my very being —

Do I swim with or against the current,

that everlasting tide of traffic?

Envisioning

glowing embers of a forgotten fireplace,

and nothing is as it seems

Truth or fiction?

The night swirls on.

-writersblock55

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