Location: SF Bus Terminal
So sometimes I write poetry, dear followers, I may post a few here on the occassion. This one was written a several moons ago when I was being transported on through the San Francisco Bus Terminal. A story of sorts based on my people watching skills. One can only assume.
Her presence is magnified two fold in the puddles linked to the streets below.
The volcanic fire beneath her eyes flashed behind the circumference of her smile.
Casual nightly acquaintances pander at her door.
That idea to drink full from what she has to offer.
Play by play as she meanders through the sea of godless faces.
Deadstone eyes equate to the lies of their daily lives and her rainbow trail follows her where she needs to go. Dropping her bag, the soles of her feet beating against the ground.
Callus wear for protection and to truly hear the screams that cry from the Earth.
Blood drenched curdles leaking in and she knows that this is her fight.
One that will take place as the lonesome songs from the flashing crosswalk see her through.
She is no one.
Breaking through that brick wall to allow the momentary sun to shine through. She is the hero and here is where it begins as she covers her dark hair in her hood, the wind greeting her as she moves on.