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By Randy Rich
Other Poems by Randy Rich


The glass is cold to the touch

as trucks rumble the windows

on their journeys to the North.

All night they roar along the superhighways

spilling sound, groaning the troubled sleep

in rooms of chandeliers, marble tiles,

reflections of fans in the mirror, outside,

outside the mirror, the spiritual window,

warm, full of light, rumbling with songs,

whispering through the drapes, rustling

into the scattered buildings that reach for the smog,


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Submitted: Thursday, December 4, 2008

Last Updated: Friday, December 5, 2008

About the Poet
I am married and have two beautiful children. I am a Professional Christian Counselor and Director of services for children at a local community mental health center.

Other Poems by Randy Rich

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