poem #9

At Colfax and Lincoln

by Matt DeHarte

I am sitting at a bus stop,

Denver’s air cold and biting,

Waiting for the sunshine

To break clouds; fighting.

The flakes fall softly

On the dim lit street

Sparkling as diamonds

Before settling on moist concrete.

I am sitting at a bus stop

Hoping for a ride

To take me to a time I’ve known

On which my nature died.

A place where even in the darkest times

The sun will surely rise;

The last place it rumbles, stops

Before we reach paradise.

I am sitting at a bus stop

Listening for a sign –

To hear the hiss of squealing brakes

Of a driver who is blind.

When she stops, it’ll be for me.

She’ll motion me aboard.

The dark will rise from her sunken eyes,

I will cry out for my Lord.

I am sitting at a bus stop;

Staring at a gold domed face.

One light alone above me

As I practice being chaste.

I hope to God He’ll show Himself

Before my dreadful trip.

And maybe, I can buy His love

With some prized or shining gift.

I am sitting at a bus stop

With a skewed view of life.

This frigid city tundra

Cuts through layers as a knife.

And, the icy asphalt before me

Beckons that I run!

But, there is no transit with lesser fare

Nor Poverty’s crushing grip!

  

I am sitting at a bus stop

Holding my chalice full of guilt.

Every step before was wavering

Toward the City He has built.

But, this alone I know is true,

An aurora in my eye:

I hope to dance in jubilant couth –

Beyond shadow; Beyond time