Playing with the Breeze of the Dark

Driving home from work, late one night, I was struck by the starkness of the dark buildings and the sharpness of the lights of the apartments.

 

Playing with the breeze of the dark.

Soft comes the night, creeping.

Long is the drive to the softness of my bed.

Silhouetted windows are filled with light as I pass.

Yellow and white glimpses of lives I’ve no part of.

My hand rises and falls out the window.

A Christmas tree-car gives color to the street.

Red-blue-red-blue.

“Glad it ain’t me.”

Playing with the breeze of the dark.

 

Warm is the flowing air tonight.

How I love the smells.

Orange, honeysuckle and lilac.

My nose fills with memories.

How I long to share these.

Creating more and more with you beside me.

Driving where ever.

Playing with the breeze of the dark.

 

The city eases down.

A creature of day transiting to another.

Different rhythm, same life.

A scattering of people.

Slight hum of tires in the distance.

The white-blue hum of the lamp posts.

Playing with the breeze of the dark.

 

 

Reviews

[emmajoy]

The entire poem is wonderful.. but that last verse, oh my - it's near magnificent!

' The city eases down. / A creature of day transiting to another. / Different rhythm, same life. / A scattering of people. / Slight hum of tires in the distance. / The white-blue hum of the lamp posts. / Playing with the breeze of the dark. '

You've created, conjured a real world moving in front of my eyes, can almost hear, smell your descriptions. This is one of the best poems I've read in the Cafe.. beautiful.