Follow your inner moonlight; don't hide the madness.
steve a. manolis poet
I sense an old soul enter the train car
as I sit to contemplate this Sunday song,
he carries raggity words, shuffles in softly
clutching his only world, in his black way.
The train clacks away tearing through
an early morning mist, mothers pulling at children
headsets pounding senseless rhythm, lost words
fall into the minds of a care-nothing attitude.
Old soul increases his grip on the train strap
swaying slowly, the train gains speed
and heads into the dark womb-ed tunnel
overhead lights flicker, the air pushes against me.
I find it difficult to catch a breath
yet old soul stares ahead, as if awaiting destiny
to reach out and lift him away from the physical
and into the realm of greater things.
The train explodes into sun light
my eyes tearing from the strain of foggy vision,
finally I see the bible lying on the metal floor
pages flapping freely, yet there is no wind at all.