The Train To Roosevelt Avenue

{ Wednesday, July 4, 2012 }

The subtle rocking of the subway lulls me to sleep --
An urban cradle at best --
And I begin to drift in and out of lucidity.

The melting pot I've thrown myself into begins to fade,
And 'this just in:'
The thoughts of the day.

It's funny, feeling on top of the world
And never enough
All at the same time.
This city will eat you up and spit you out all in the same day,
And then seat you on a proverbial throne.

And you'll never be enough --
Interesting enough,
Or alluring enough,
But that doesn't matter,
Because you don't need him,
But Him.

What's this dream,
Jotting down words for a living
And tumbling around in them mercilessly,
When they won't hold you through the night.

I feel like a puddle,
When I used to be a sea.
Becoming too much of this world and losing all depth
Is a terribly frightening feeling.

And then I snap out of it and gaze at all of the buildings grazing the sky
As I sit alone on rocks in Central Park.
Then I beg God for a sign that I belong here,
And I'm greeted with melodic birdcries and
Strangers' smiles paired with crinkled eyes,
And there is a tangible inward shift.

And then I know that I've got to break out of home,
Grab the piece of paper I've worked four years for,
Shake hands goodbye when I'd rather kiss,
Snuff the flames turned habits that I can't shake,
And get here already.


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