Yours Alone

It is raining,
a soft December rain,
cold and quiet,
slowly sapping the life
out or anyone who lingers long
in it’s seductive mist.

You are standing at the edge of the city,
watching the highway,
the daily ebb and flow of human tide
in full swing, everyone moving
lemming-like away from…. to….
the lights a ribbon of migration.

You seem to be the only person
standing still.

You are content to wait
until the madness subsides
and you can leave the city
for your silent mountains
after the roads have cleared
and your journey can be yours alone.

About this Poem

I love to travel. I hate traffic. And so that often means, when I travel to larger cities, driving early in the morning, or late at night. Which suits me fine. I like the silence, the dark places, the surprising bursts of light, watching the world waking, or go to sleep. I like the silence where I can think, pray, write poems, love letters and stories in my head.

And you can’t do that in traffic, on the road, or in your life.

Tom

PS – the picture was taken on the Hudson Parkway on the edge of New York City.