Route 62, the pink and purple bus
fading like a disappearing sunset,
which always passes
beneath a lamp which flickers –
the orange eye wearing a halo
of feathers, the seagulls too far
from the sea.
Homeward bound – bus ticket in hand,
paper turned redundant,
used and crumpled, left in a pocket
to fall into dust, into yesterday
as the sky blushes then bruises;
a ragdoll’s cheeks battered by time
and small hands, hands
which now paint the clouds
in the end of the day darkness.
Route 62 – my only way back
to the place I call home,
my return and my solace
found in the humming
of wheels upon tarmac;
the only time I see myself
as natural light fades
and pulls my face into the window.
Homeward bound – heart firmly held
between my two tired hands.
Poem: © Kristiana Reed 2020
Photograph taken by me.
In love with this thanks for sharing 💛
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you so much 💛
LikeLike
I am so glad I scrolled down and found this.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you so much B 😘♥️
LikeLiked by 1 person
Really loved it 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Excellent depiction of the spirit’s trip ‘Home’. The crumpled ticket represents the life well lived but now ‘redundant’. The spirit, no longer that child, holds her essence as she approaches Source. Well done!
LikeLiked by 1 person
I love how you have interpreted this poem Barbara, thank you for your comment!
LikeLiked by 1 person
One of your best!
LikeLiked by 1 person