Waiting in line


Beneath a weathered sky walking, comes the brave amongst the broken tall grass

Out into the open a stranger, to a day’s vacant mischief set to rattle bones

The many people buying tickets in the rain, the snow, hands in their pockets, winter’s cold

Wrapped in coats and scarfs these wanders, wait between lost freedoms’ rebels breathe their fade

As unto zombies alive to their pods, their pads, grooving to the ice cut tunes upon a blacktop

Unaware, lost to the numb frozen world turning old, as balaclava faces fail to challenge the wind

Still waiting, just waiting between the lines cold, but wearing music like a blanket, it’s warm fire to the soul

A hundred pound sterling with just a few feet more, then I’ll be finally inside that triple glazed glass door..

4 responses to “Waiting in line

    • It’s Summer here, and the cold of Winter is so faraway, though Antarctica still gets to around -30. Thanks Colline… Keeping warm to ones music on the inside..

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