|
 Menu
|
|
|
|
|
Social
|
|
|
|
|
the last bus
Contributed by
poeticjestix
on
Sunday, 13th February 2011 @ 05:18:38 PM in AEST
Topic:
EmotionalPoetry
|
Raindrops they are rolling down the window glass together
never deviating on their path to ground whatever
coming tantalisingly close but they are never merging
other drops disappear fast as they are converging
This is Friday and this bus it is the last, oh brother!
full of drunks & punks and a sprinkle of timid others
the drunks and punks they don't even try to get along
the timids they witness too much, but they're faces just don't let on
the driver motors crazily as fast as he is able
inebriated heads rock,hands clasp tight in keeping stable
I look out at the window, merged outside and night reflections
glad i'm too drunk to suffer an engine seat erection
traffic lights, they shine as if on command from red to green
street lights they float in rhythm as illusion shakes upon the scene
I study other passengers , both real and through the glass
they're voices loud and proud, as repeated nonsense they do gas
The bus brakes hard in order to make a late notified stop
a punk bounds down the aisle , he's now firmly in the dock
I've taken sides much earlier when I first stepped on
my inhibitions (like my night out) are now just as good as gone.
Spilt sprite, or something other, runs in rival streams down the aisle
At least I hope it's sprite, for some other reason I smile
I think of you at home there hoping that you're waiting for me
either awake in bed, or sat not really watching T.V.
My stop is coming next but there is no need for a fuss
I'm confident I'm not the only one getting off the bus
bus stopping sign lights, bell rings, the engine shrilly revs hard
I face my own reflection merged with a passing house yard
the drips I studied earlier, they are now in trouble
gravity sways them wildly whilst the size of others double
I think they should be proud of how long they may have lasted.
Oh no, a huge descender now they're memory is blasted
I reach and bound down the aisle my hands are whacking columns
my wedding ring it rings out as my hand is whacked upon them
the doors spring open quickly as the bus is still a stopping
heaven knows, I'm careless, stand on carton starts it popping
I'm off the bus now walking and my mind it starts a thinking
it tends to do this periodically when I'm drinking
the two of us are solid, I truly believe in both of us
did they ever see it coming? Those two raindrops on the bus?
Copyright ©
poeticjestix
... [
2011-02-13 17:18:38]
(Date/Time posted on
site)
Advertisments:
|
|
|
|
|
|
Sorry, comments are no longer allowed for anonymous, please register for a free membership to access this feature and more
|
|
All comments are owned by the poster. Your Poetry
Dot Com is not responsible for the content of any
comment.
That said, if you find an offensive comment, please
contact via the FeedBack Form with details, including poem title
etc.
|
|
|
Re: the last bus
(User Rating: 1 )
by CommasCanSeperate on
Sunday, 13th February 2011 @ 05:26:01 PM AEST
(User
Info | Send
a Message)
|
I love the way and style you have written this in it flows beautifully. X
So calm, but so emotional, has alot of hidden aspects... Brilliant Read! |
|
|
Re: the last bus
(User Rating: 1 )
by deusdeira on
Monday, 14th February 2011 @ 03:22:02 AM AEST
(User
Info | Send
a Message)
|
| Haha you write such clever poems. Well done. |
|
|
|
· 
Poetry
Community
Members
Areas
Reference
Search
Top
Others
