Screeching sounds of train breaks hollered through the phone,
wind and shuffling of feet, as the rumbling screamed
out again starting toward the next stop…
His voice strong and young through the phone spoke of his adventures.
Oh how he is following the many paths of his dreams; from one tale
to another he describes his life in the city…
Again, the sounds of another stop demanding the attention over the
noises around him crashing into the phone. He asks about his sister,
how she is, now that she is expecting?
His voice, even with the competition of the city sounds, is stronger
in nature and in tone than all the noises competing with his time on the phone,
joval he remarks, “She will be a great mom.”
Tenderly, he refers to his sister; again the train slams into another stop.
“Is this stop yours? “ his Mother asks “No Mom, “ he replied. “I won’t miss it.”
He then affirms his devotion to his sister.
“You know Mom, she has a great heart.” He said with a tender voice.
“I am so looking forward to meeting her baby.” He affirmed his expectations.
again the moment was taken over by a thunderous sounds.
All of a sudden the noise in the background became quiet. “Has the train stopped?”
His mother asked, realizing everything had gone quiet. “No, I got off at my stop.”
he responded with a clearer tone, no longer competing with the train.
“How far is your apartment?” his Mother asked, with the customary concern and worry.
“Only a couple of blocks Mom,” he reassured her. “Well, be aware of your surroundings,”
she replied with her normal worried tone.
“I know, and thank you.” His tone, equally smiling with the terms of acceptance over the years,
it was then, with his own great heart, he said, “Good Night.”
© CMM 2012
I sit before you all that I have,
It isn’t the coffee that is the gift,
It is the importance,
I sit before you and we drink,
Smelling the coffee,
Pour into the gift,
Of you and me,
I sit before you.
© CMM 2013
Gentle steps of the keys play separately,
yet, together the music becomes a harmony
of memory and of verse.
Verse now resident of the soul,
to be written in prose of tomorrows.
Forgotten, we continue with music,
music of feelings never forgotten
© CMM 2013