Jeff Rushton Poems

Living a life in a dream, seen on the silver screen.
Playing the part of someone I have only seen.
Day by day I search for that missing scene.
Hour after hour I convince myself of its reality.
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Three totally different ways of life.
Boys different external, but internal alike.
One wealthy, healthy, and famous in his time.
Wealthy from birth, wealthy from work, it didn't matter with him he ended up an arrogant, self-righteous jerk.
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Contemplating a red light buried under the reminiscent remorse of a day.
Carrying a sales line, wondering, hoping, dreaming of today's wages, sublime.
Selling our souls for another night at home.
Winding down the day until the moment of peace and tranquillity.
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Everyone has their own zone, no one is a standard.
Jet lag begins when you enter another's land.
It is not right to end your travels,
But they are very taxing and quick to ravel.
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The jet departs from the hanger of hustle and bustle, trend.
The ascent is upward but the force backward, like running in to hurricane winds.
Propulsion begins, as does pressurization to drums within.
Sublimation, during the cruise at speeds long unfathomed.
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The shaded dream, window opening to a ream of concrete scene
Vision through blurred screen, a free pass to a play, long since closed, condemned, Dead
Sound and words of foreign cacophony, rhetoric of an unknown continent
Conversation without contemplation valuation, words of wisdom for excretion
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Fear, trepidation, bewildered by expectation
Traveling through your home in darkness,
Worries of the table, chair and your shins painful echo
Anticipation of an unknown score, perfection, rejection, nothing more
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Where do you turn when all road maps are burned?
What do you do when the vision is blurred or esque?
What direction do you follow when your transportation is swallowed
The path is clear
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