The endless rush and press of the elevators,
the passive yo-yo advance and retreat,
so much a metaphor for the lives of the transportees.
Like rosin slowly drawn along a bow,
the scraping slide like a waltz movement,
doors closing gently like arms
taking us into a most formal embrace
and then releasing eagerly
to recieve other dance partners.
And always, always...this uplifting presence,
steadfast, faithful and confidential as a friend...
and the fear of falling.

09/30/2005

Author's Note: I'm a corporate receptionist during the day. I sit in a little kiosk and listen to the elevators toil all day.

Posted on 09/30/2005
Copyright © 2025 Lacy D Phillips