This Way Home Will Be Shorter.

He’s drifting to sleep,
yet capturing every unfolded page;
I recognize him.

Speaking often
when fate uses the same
subway to shuttle us
toward our different directions.

An elderly man,
always senses his stops;
while drifting,
capturing life
in an ethereal peace.

Says he knows
the way home will be shorter–

God has assured him that.

Tells me to find my assurance;
but I won’t hear
for another generation
of preventable pain–

I am my youth.

Between the snippets
of consciousness and
conversation

He’s revealing themes
found in sermons that
God was giving to me
tithe, minister,
and pulpit free.

I rise from my seat,
having stepped over
every unturned stone
wishing him well;

Only for him to remind me–
that our way home will be shorter,
once we learn to get
past our journeys;

I know his heaven would come soon–
He knows I am my youth.

I stand at the exit doors
offered final smiles,
as we part to separate skies.