Ghost Bus

In the white veil’s fog

your thoughts wander in circles

white powder coating –

a candy you taste on your

tongue.

Driving towards town

in a ghost bus

hoarsy cough from a lonely

passenger

a wolf between a flock o’sheep.

The poet being rattled along

tired frozen cobbles

between a sea of metal boxes

abandoned for another day

by their owners

running after hard-earned cash.

It supposed to become lighter –

lichtiger – as a mighty power

pushes grey clouds away.

Everybody wishes this

for the whole world.

 

zoltanzelan

ZJG-Poetry’16.

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