Sitting on the 239 bus I stare out of the window looking for glimpses of hope.

With Svefn-g-englar in my ears on an old Sony compact disk player nestled in the cove of my red backpack I ride.  The melodies of Ágætis byrjun move me to question as I ponder the thoughts of Billy James and my longing sick soul with the forming chorus of Huston & Oxtoby to tickle my ear.

My mind dances to the norms and sources that make up my life.  The life I knew so well but remained a stranger.  The existence that cold no longer contain the budding soul that demanded more that light and good soil.

Sitting on the 239 bus I stare out of the window looking for glimpses of hope.

My heart longed for reason to conquer this faith that began as a seed.  This burgeoning bush of love that grew and its roots firming its hold destroyed the self taking little ideas and daring them to be bold.  There was Svefn-g-englar in my ears on an old Sony compact disk player nestled in the cove of my red backpack I ride.

The world passed us by down on White Oak as we turned towards Roscoe [the street and not the Rosco P. Coltrane of the Dukes of Hazzard fame].  I look at the houses we passed.  They have families and friends living with them.  There are stores that sell goods.

There was a restaurant supply place that I always wanted to see inside but never did.  I dreamed of owning a place that sold hope and faith.  I wanted to be its first customer.  I would hang my own dollar on the wall in a pretty little frame.  Then one day I could share the story of how I finally found faith sitting on the 239 bus as I stared out of the window looking for glimpses of hope.