The street, has fallen deep asleep
Where earlier tred a thousand feet,
Their destination it does not care
For it remains, while they go there.
The street, is hard and stretches long
It carries people full of song,
But stands beneath the weakest feet
And sometimes it provides a seat.
The street, has not always been there
For once an orchard flourished fare,
As fruit hung heavy on the boughs
Of trees that stood in sun and cloud.
The street, in daylight likes to roar
With buses, trucks, and cars galore,
They move along a trodden path
But care not much for aftermath.
The street, is always there to greet
Each morning, as it dawns to meet
Whatever lies within the day,
Or what rains down along the way.
The street, will stay when I am gone
For travellers on their journey long,
It will not miss me, will not sigh,
It's hardened surface cannot cry.
Rusty Blackwood.
Copyright 2002-09.
~ I live on a very busy street, the sounds of which are
heard well into the evening hours. One sultry night in
July of 2002 I was sitting on my front porch watching
the activity, thinking to myself how long the street
has accomadated the life it supports, letting my thoughts
drift to what it must have been like before it became what
it is. It made me think about the life cycle, beginning,
to end. Such was the inspiration for this poem. ~
R.B.
