Metropolitan Cradle

An easy but critical look at the result of a day. One's I'm sure we've acted out so many times.

 

Carnival’s over.

And sixty miles per hour,

The metropolitan’s cradle rocks him….

Slowly…

Into the steady hammock of a lullaby.

 

Ears, fed by blurred sirens and double bass systems,

Grapples the brain in the arms of enigma.

So much in fact, that

He seems unplugged from reality.

Chained to a seat by passengers.

Who, perhaps, like him, escape to the cradle.

 

Sixty miles per hour.

 

From the rocks below to the edge.

From the underground to the basement.

To be chased into retrospect.

To reminisce

To remember

To reborn, from the enigma hypnotized brain,

The carnival.

 

Nine to Five.

For a chance to see water splash street boys.

To smell children after school.

To glance at the lady beside him,

To read her newspaper.

 

Sixty miles per hour. The cradle rocks him.

Reviews

[Emily B]

came back to enjoy these words again . . .

[Emily B]

hey, I thought I had read all there was to read. And somehow, well somehow I must have missed a thing or two. My apologies. This is stellar work.

If you find yourself editing this, you might want to make it "to be reborn". Thoughtful work. Or thoughtful reading. Maybe it's too early in the morning. . .

[Shannon Carinne Sparks]

Everyone needs some way to get away sometimes, from the horrors life can bring us.

[Jason Henry]

dude, stop taking the bus home lol! taxis wont rock you to sleep, trust me. but seriously, this is an uber-vivid poem. totally can relate (but i cant sleep on the bus...i don't trust what they would do lol). second stanza was my favourite, an absolute delight...

"carnival" ...very good usage...