>The Road

>The only lamplight at the end of the street

Filters green as the cadence of dream.
And a boy and a girl,
As he smokes and she twirls
Cast shadows that dance in the heat.
There's a moon in the sky that encircles the night
Though it's shy behind clouds filled with rain.
And somewhere the noise
Of the girl and her boy
As they laugh becomes echoes again.
And the woman in her doorway with a peppermint glow
Stands, shaking, and looks at the road.
In a window a flicker, a silhouette bigger
Than the figurines watching the screen.
His arm wrapped around her
His steady heart pounding
With her cheek on his chest, sound asleep.
Somewhere away and across the lane
A jazz singer's timbre sustains
And it cuts through the thickness
And causes homesickness
And transcends the words wrought in vain
But its waning mundanity
And subtle profanity
Is all He can hear or explain.
So he sits without words in the light that is thrown
From a van carrying weary men home
And the woman in the doorway with the peppermint glow
Embraces her man in the road.

Hamilton Barber

The subject of this page is an introverted writer/musician/lunatic from Chattanooga, TN who dabbles in lexical dexterity, unorthodox thoughts on prosperity, and being overwhelmingly undeserving of the privilege of waking up every day. He hopes that everybody who reads these words takes them to heart and leaps higher than he ever could. He reads, thinks, and speaks too much; he listens, works, and loves too little; and he says “I” entirely too often. The words on these pages are not his: they are the words that were given to him.