Way Station

I am a way station.

Not a person. Not someone.

I am simply a moment in time,

Here to be used as others pass through.

I am only a temporary stopping point for those in need.

The broken, the scared, the weak,

Those with the tattered souls.

They all find me sooner or later.

I am a reprieve from their pain,

A balm for the cutting edges of this world.

I don’t ask to be, yet my words soothe them.

Somehow, I pick them up. I dust them off.

I put them back together,

Replacing shattered pieces of them

Like they were a puzzle I didn’t even know I could see.

They become themselves with me.

They emerge, better, happier.

The who they were meant to be.

The strays of the world become free

And they move on, without a single glance back.

They return to where they belong,

To where they’re meant to be.

And this port shines a little less with each fleeting traveler.

I am a way station.

I am not a destination.

No one stays

And I end up broken and alone.


© 2017 Melissa L. Webb


Twilight- a poem


By Melissa L. Webb

Into what?

Whose thinking splashed into the beyond?

One was not skeptical, back where same mattered.

Birds sent empty ministries.

And all water voiced a trace of advantage.

Will morning happen?

Looking at you, terrified.

Worlds scraping time, splintered powder of wisdom.

A thousand glimpses from the same story,

yet moral anger unfolds.

Mankind considers its course, helplessly blundering beneath the end.

Champions just walk about the aftermath, rocking silently inward.

Great marking etched in stone, pay homage to prehistoric fires,

Everlasting eternal.

We must survive loudly in this twilight.

©2010 Melissa L. Webb