What I was thinking last night while waiting for the bus
Excerpt from Randy Stodola’s Poetry World Weekly! Historic Issue #1.
—–
As winter’s chill breath haunts the now shivering landscape of
this city of sorrow its citizens – though they may scurry
about in a more hurried fashion – are still steeled by their
bold determination to get from here to there
But for me this time this place this moment is written as a
memory like a picked plant which – no matter how hardy –
eventually will wither and fade and disappear into dust
Still there is beauty in every thing and all and I have lived
long enough to learn to savor every moment – even as this ship
sails over an angry sea of loss, loneliness, longing and regret
For the night is liquid my eyes are liquid my voice is liquid my
soul is liquid EVERYTHING IS LIQUID except for life which –
no matter how hard – eventually will wither and fade and
disappear into dust
And for those if any who may someday read this I guess what this
means is – whatever your moment is – your moment is now
-Randy Stodola
