Awaiting The Bus

Something I wrote while, well, awaiting the bus.

Awaiting The Bus

Busy Street

I stand at the bus stop, awaiting the bus,
Walking feet, disturbing debris, dust swept away in the gust,
I sit, oblivious to the images of transparent faces,
I'm the audience to a theater and the actors nameless,
Full characters pass by, each a protagonist in this story of life,
But if you ask my opinion, I'm admitting, there is noone in sight,
A street, booming with life and the public littered through,
Just moving furnature, in this bus stop's living room,
Cars flow through the veins of the land, tires holding with grip,
Empty cans at the side of the curb which roll in the wind,
Meaningless chatter clatters, words lost in the speech,
Buildings stand over, wisdom filled, watching the scene,
Anticipate, the schedual narrates that we lay on the cusp,
I stand at the bus stop, awaiting the bus.