by Thomas Murray
Plane takes off from Chicago; touches down in Orange County.
One with a young man; the other with another, bald and gray.
In between many worlds, lives, and dreams passed by.
Bound to a god I can never see, but sure I feel It with me.
Going from the Gobi to the 405 is a full-time job.
My thoughts like winter snow drifts away, but summer comes for everyone.
If I die before I learn to love, will I ever live what the prophets speak?
Can money pay for all the days I lived awake but half asleep?
It takes a lifetime to learn to grow up and take a stand.
The Second Coming killed the Song a million years before the Fall.
Ride the rails like swaying hobos but no one bothers to ask the destination.
We swagger like lions through the boulevards; gorge ourselves on zebra flesh.
Will I faint from too much incense or pass out from too much booze?
From ups and downs and wedding vows, eternal hope springs.
Exploding Novas all beautiful quickly turn into silent Black Holes.
From weakness I descend to normal; hold me up before I sputter out.
Thomas Murray has been writing all his life, mainly short stories and poetry (was a published member of the San Francisco Poet’s Union and winner of Bay Area poetry contests). He also now writes full length novels and has a reservoir of projects to write. Having lived overseas for over 25 years and traveled to 88 countries, he has trained his mind to be sensitive to the wide range of nuances that make up the personalities of everyone he meets. Follow him online at www.thomasmurraywriter.com Facebook: Thomas Murray Writer.