I figure since I am sharing I can put a few things into the ether. I used to write poetry prodigiously. Now, quite randomly. Today, I had a creative moment. Not a poem, but a short story. Still felt good to create. Been a while since I felt that fulfilled. A little positive affirmation from my peers didn't hurt either. So here we go...
Alone on the Red Line
Someone catch the child
As he stumbles and falters
In the body of the train that
Rocks and bucks with no regard
To a child’s survival.
The train that stops at unknown places;
Places of knowledge, places of corruption
Is there someone there who can point out the window
In view of that child’s curiosity
Saying, “Child, this is not T.V.,
But the beauty and demise that is reality?”
Someone who can nudge a child
Gently sleeping in a peaceful slumber
That only innocence of childhood allows
And whisper, “Dear Child, This is our stop.
We are home.”
