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Playing with the Breeze of the Dark


A Poem by Paul Pruett
"
Driving home from work, late one night, I was struck by the starkness of the dark buildings and the sharpness of the lights of the apartments.
"

 

Playing with the breeze of the dark.
Soft comes the night, creeping.
Long is the drive to the softness of my bed.
Silhouetted windows are filled with light as I pass.
Yellow and white glimpses of lives I’ve no part of.
My hand rises and falls out the window.
A Christmas tree-car gives color to the street.
Red-blue-red-blue.
“Glad it ain’t me.”
Playing with the breeze of the dark.
 
Warm is the flowing air tonight.
How I love the smells.
Orange, honeysuckle and lilac.
My nose fills with memories.
How I long to share these.
Creating more and more with you beside me.
Driving where ever.
Playing with the breeze of the dark.
 
The city eases down.
A creature of day transiting to another.
Different rhythm, same life.
A scattering of people.
Slight hum of tires in the distance.
The white-blue hum of the lamp posts.
Playing with the breeze of the dark.
 
 

© 2009 Paul Pruett
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Featured Review

The entire poem is wonderful.. but that last verse, oh my - it's near magnificent!

' The city eases down. / A creature of day transiting to another. / Different rhythm, same life. / A scattering of people. / Slight hum of tires in the distance. / The white-blue hum of the lamp posts. / Playing with the breeze of the dark. '

You've created, conjured a real world moving in front of my eyes, can almost hear, smell your descriptions. This is one of the best poems I've read in the Cafe.. beautiful.

Posted 5 Months Ago

1 of 1 people found this review constructive.


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