Can You Hear Me?

waiting 3

I’m a random face,

In a crowded world,

A single voice,

That’s barely heard,

I’m a lonely word,

On an empty page,

A forgotten scene,

On a barren stage,

I’m a solo piece,

In a hundred strong,

A supporting act,

An unsigned song,


But look beyond,

And look beneath,

Look around,

Suspend belief,

You’ll see my face,

And hear my voice,

You’ll call my name,

You’ll make a choice,

For I would wait,

A thousand years,

Just to be the voice,

That your heart hears.


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I watch you from the edges,

From a place that I’m not seen,

I leave a trace behind me,

A scent of where I’ve been,

I am the sense of something,

A glimpse or fleeting movement,

A taste of something missing,

Or a long forgotten moment.

I am the blood that rises,

In the heat within your chest,

The heartbeat that increases,

And the fear that you accept.

I’m close enough to touch you,

To feel your skin on mine,

Close enough to whisper,

If you’d only cross that line.

I’m here for you, I’m waiting,

In the shadows of your mind,

With dancing echoes calling,

For our paths to re-align.

I’ll watch you from the edges,

For a lifetime I’ll be there,

Waiting for you always,

Not knowing when or where.

The Bus Stop


Raindrops that echo against a glass pane,

And rivulets of water that run through the grain,

An old wooden stand that shelters the bleary,

The workers, the travellers, the old and the weary.


The yellows and browns, oranges and blues,

The purples and greens and iridescent hues.

A shield of umbrellas that cocoon the intrepid,

The foot soaked army of the wet heavy headed.


A girl with a teddy bear holds a warm hand,

And listens to voices she cannot understand,

Whispers of memories and hopes still to come,

Echoes that ricochet then scatter so random.


The bus stop is teeming with bodies’ en mass,

There is no disparity and no difference in class,

The poor and the lowly the rich and the bright,

Await their own passage and a fleeting respite.