I walk at night
in search of an answer.
I am alone, save for a
ragged, old hobo dog.
His fur is matted with
dirt and twigs.
His eyes are warm, but sad.
He follows, perhaps looking
for an answer of his own.
We walk on sidewalks and
streets, through forest and
fields. We walk along
a creek that we do not
see. The bubbling and
churning maps our course
We reach a picturesque wooden
bridge. It moans a sigh
of the aged as we make
our way across.
Boxcar Willie stop on the other
side to water a bush. He
glance back, his eyes
asking for privacy. He has pride.
I turn my back and look
around. Silent, majestic guardians
surround us. Their brown fingers
reach up towards the stars,
never breaking through the veil
of blackness.
They suddenly look sad, stripped bare
by an uncaring winter. I feel very
alone and turn, hoping Boxcar
is ready to move on. He is
seated near my feet, gnawing
a fallen branch. We push forward,
leaving behind the weather watchers
of the night.
Soon we come to an old, rusted
barbwire fence. It has been
overtaken by all manner of weeds.
I scan the area, but can find nothing
to be held in, and no one to be kept out.
Loneliness threatens to engulf
my heart. It is quickly chased away
by a wet tongue on my fingers.
It's nice to have a friend.
We follow the fence to it's end,
up on a hill.
The night has grown impossibly
dark, but the stars seem very close here.
almost reachable. I sit down, light
a cigarette, and run a hand
over Boxcar's back, feeling
numerous scars through the
matted fur. My fingers trace
each one, reading the battles
won and lost. I become furious
and nearly scream at the stars.
But those eyes are looking up at
me, and they no longer look sad.
I can feel the world
holding it's breath; awaiting
the birth of a new sun,
new hope. I inhale the fresh
morning air because I know
the sun is coming. It's warmth
precedes it's light.
I decide to go home,
bringing the comfort of
my answer and Boxcar
with me.
All poetry is written by Stephen Lindsay.
Please do not use or copy any of Stephen's poetry without his permission. Thank You!
E-mail Stephen at lind4795@ginko.ait.fredonia.edu
I walk at night
in search of an answer.
I am alone, save for a
ragged, old hobo dog.
His fur is matted with
dirt and twigs.
His eyes are warm, but sad.
He follows, perhaps looking
for an answer of his own.
We walk on sidewalks and
streets, through forest and
fields. We walk along
a creek that we do not
see. The bubbling and
churning maps our course
We reach a picturesque wooden
bridge. It moans a sigh
of the aged as we make
our way across.
Boxcar Willie stop on the other
side to water a bush. He
glance back, his eyes
asking for privacy. He has pride.
I turn my back and look
around. Silent, majestic guardians
surround us. Their brown fingers
reach up towards the stars,
never breaking through the veil
of blackness.
They suddenly look sad, stripped bare
by an uncaring winter. I feel very
alone and turn, hoping Boxcar
is ready to move on. He is
seated near my feet, gnawing
a fallen branch. We push forward,
leaving behind the weather watchers
of the night.
Soon we come to an old, rusted
barbwire fence. It has been
overtaken by all manner of weeds.
I scan the area, but can find nothing
to be held in, and no one to be kept out.
Loneliness threatens to engulf
my heart. It is quickly chased away
by a wet tongue on my fingers.
It's nice to have a friend.
We follow the fence to it's end,
up on a hill.
The night has grown impossibly
dark, but the stars seem very close here.
almost reachable. I sit down, light
a cigarette, and run a hand
over Boxcar's back, feeling
numerous scars through the
matted fur. My fingers trace
each one, reading the battles
won and lost. I become furious
and nearly scream at the stars.
But those eyes are looking up at
me, and they no longer look sad.
I can feel the world
holding it's breath; awaiting
the birth of a new sun,
new hope. I inhale the fresh
morning air because I know
the sun is coming. It's warmth
precedes it's light.
I decide to go home,
bringing the comfort of
my answer and Boxcar
with me.
All poetry is written by Stephen Lindsay.
Please do not use or copy any of Stephen's poetry without his permission. Thank You!
E-mail Stephen at lind4795@ginko.ait.fredonia.edu
