On The Bus
Author: Dennis R
I was always on the bus
whether rain or not. I
was always on the bus
looking out the window
at the stores passing by.
Those which stood on
the corner seemed to glance
toward me, never smiling.
The cracks in the brick
grew but I was always on the
bus. The trees along the sidewalk
grew but I was always on the bus.
Selfishly, thirty years, I was always
on the bus, passing life by.
Comments on this poem/writing:
|anonymous (188.8.131.52) -- Sunday, August 3 2008, 07:12 am|
I was always in my truck. Then one day, my truck broke down. So, I caught the bus for my first time in my life. Didn't know what to do or how much to pay? Then I started talking to people about life, as we watch everything pass by. How exciting, my one and only time. Now, I'm always in my truck, somtimes passing, all those people riding in the bus and talking about life. Nice poem! Like to hear more Dennis.
|Dennis R (184.108.40.206) -- Sunday, August 24 2008, 12:43 pm|
Thanks anony, I now ride in my truck and don't ride the bus any more. I remember, though, one can be lost in thought a million miles from that place while riding. It can be a time of healing or meditation because the concentration can be mental rather than physical. Dennis R
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