Passing

The traffic rolls passed

Fingerprinted picture glass

An unaccompanied man walks by

Icicles cling to his stubbled chin

It’s frigid

But snowless

Grey clouds drape

The fading day in

Lackluster mood

By gone men

Chatter loudly

Stories that mattered

Once

Nodding, knowing

Their companions truth

Has grown over the years

As has their own

A woman with

A lonely face

Picks up her tepid cup

Of hopeful smile

While

Music too upbeat

For the evening

Echoes

Lightly off false wood floors

Each soul passing time

Lost in the labyrinth

Of unceasing thought

Miss the beauty

Hidden amongst these

Melancholy moments

Life happening

In hidden bubble clouds

Egos perspective

Demands precedence

Bellowing behind

Pulpits of fool’s gold

Preaching to choirs of

Feelings

Dressed in guilded robes

Nodding to sentiments

Of doubt and fear

The unending sermon

Distracting

From opportunity to see

Even in this seeming gloom

Life is calling

To see

Beauty meant for

Their eyes alone

New perspectives

Made for healing hearts

Lost

As traffic continues to pass