Street (A Poem)

Yesterday while I was going through some old stuff that I've written I came across two poems that I wrote while I was a senior in college in 2004. Here's the first poem . . . 

STREET

The sunlight dries the damp streets in the Village

As the sound of the bus echoes

Surrounding the coldness of a winter's morning.

Gazing through the window of the seventh story

Walk up apartment, seeing the cars parked

Wondering every morning who drives them.

The smell of the coffee shop downstairs creeps

Through the open window, scoffing at me. I recall

All those childhood dreams I once possessed.

The wind slowly picks up, blowing the newspapers

Which surround the bodega on the corner.

The baby next door screeches louder than a marching band.

I ache to escape this life I'm leading, but somehow

Every time I've tried, I come back.

Am I addicted to the routine? Or am I just a masochist?

The sunlight dries the damp streets in the Village

As the sound of the bus echoes

Surrounding the coldness of a winter's morning.

A Dream

I had a dream last night . . . 

I was in a cave, glancing at my angel's face, wondering what we were doing there. 

"I have to leave you," he whispered.

And then he disappeared, leaving me alone in that dreary cave. 

I rushed after him in the darkness, not knowing where I was headed

I yelled, but it was pointless, I was alone. Alone again.

Exhaustion took over my limbs and I drifted into a long sleep.

I was awaken by a soft breeze that caressed my hair

I looked around and there were trees as tall as sky scrapers.

I wondered how long I'd been in this Forrest and how I got here. 

A voice called out to me. It was familiar, it was angelic, it was his. 

"You left me," I struggled to get out. "Alone in that cave." 

He smiled, "I would never leave you," he whispered in my ear, "For I will always be with you, in the darkest of caves, in the brightest of meadows. I will always be with you."

He kissed my forehead and glided off.

"I will always be with you," his words lingered in my head as I woke up this morning to the rain thumping against my window . . . "I will always be with you. . ."

A Crush

A crush can arise unexpectedly. It can creep at you while you're both walking down Ninth Avenue and you catch a glimpse of his smile; a smile you've never seen before, but that seems extremely familiar. 

A crush is receiving a text and wondering if it's wise to wait ten minutes to reply.

A crush is innocent . . . fresh . . . immaculate.

A crush can disappoint you without his acknowledgement.

A crush is only thinking about him when you're surrounded in a bar by attractive guys.

A crush can make you act neurotic.

A crush is someone who you dream about at night and the reason you wake up in the morning.

A crush is being able to recall a story from a previous conversation you had, proving you were listening.

A crush is someone who's eyes tell you more than what his lips say.

A crush is over analyzing a text for meaning and subtext.

A crush is something I haven't felt in awhile. 

And I'm scared . . .  scared to tell him . . . 

. . . scared that he won't feel the same way.

 

Do I risk the chance of losing him as a friend or risk the chance of gaining him as more than a friend?

A crush is hope . . . a hope I thought I'd buried deep down . . .