The Poet Silent

I just walked in from the back porch where I stared up at the stars, slowly sucking up the nicotine from the usual camel, trying to pinpoint, as I have many days in the past few weeks, where and how I had come to be here. Today had been unbearably sweltering, the usual beaming reflections from the towering glass beating down on the cracked sidewalks and pothole ridden streets, bounced back from all directions, yet tonight it was briskly refreshing; fall is encroaching. I was wondering through the quickly flowing gray clouds set on the deep black backdrop, they chased each other, played and even flirted. Their trip across the sky was just for them, isolated forms that met in the vast emptiness only to carry on together as one and vanish into the dark in harmony.

It’s quiet here among trees, the sound here is new, something I have never been witness to, the peacefulness is so loud. The air is invigorating and rejuvenating and existence is at a crossroad.

I thought back to lying on the rooftop in Richmond, just high enough up from ground level to have a clear view to the horizon, obstructed only by those buildings which showed the crumbling effect of a century’s time, eroded from its original luster of new life. Neglected real estate left to be cared for by those with little care, causing its luster to gradually fade to the state that it was when I existed with it. As I saw myself then, I watched the stars creep farther away from each other and each night in ever repeating cycles that had to be broken.

Periods of stagnate growth and changing time continue to go separately toward a greater connectivity, but can a silent outcome be broken?