UNTITLED 1

The world passes me

in colored haze

of traffic and star light,

subservient unto herself,

ignorant of the troubles

that plague my mind,

as if I was but one light

dancing alone in the swirling

cosmic energy produced by the orchestra

of city life, taxicab, bar calls,

never resting.

Each day a new stanza

in the ongoing music of time.

Though I stumble,

it doesn't stop,

hoping that I am able

to catch up to her pulsating rhythm.

People feed the music,

as if apart of her

and a part from me,

going about their meetings,

lunches, dates, musings,

not caring about the turmoil

of my soul.