POETRY IS THE HEART AND SOUL

Waiting for a Friend Near the Clock at Grand Central Terminal

A poem

Photo by Paul Smith on Unsplash

We are all waiting for a friend,
stationed around the clock stand in the center of the hall,
tethered in orbit to the illuminated faces,
like a multitude of hands on the dials,
gazing up at twinkling constellations in a green sky,
and out into the strands of commuters and tourists
revolving around it,
peeling off in spiraling tangents
like stars from the center of a galaxy,
searching for that one,

alone in a crowd.

Hey, let’s talk to each other while we wait.
To pass the time.

Poetry is the heart and soul of literature.