*Another written in between trains*
The train stumbles on the tracks
The drunken beggar heading home
To his royal majestic palace.
“I don’t know”, she shrugged,
Too tired from the ever growing monotony,
She looked into his eyes,
At least their was still love there,
In between the empty stations.
Dullness tracked their journey
To its crow like end, devastated
And emancipated, bric-à-brac
Connections flooded where the river
Burst its banks again, winters strain
Encompassed dying brown evergreens,
Another lie told by nature,
There was no ever in submerged hearts,
I know we’ll pass it soon, is that the turn?
The bend in the road, damn the trees,
Is it there? Is he there? I can’t see!
To far. To far. One for sorrow.
Maybe I will go back there one day?
Maybe. Maybe. Just to see.
The lies hold subtle forms within heaven
Like there was ever anything more,
The evergreen tongue of calculation,
He always knew the truth, but couldn’t help
The question, the dead trees rose
From lost love and fell amoung the living,
The train stumbled on the tracks,
The broken lover holding back.
They continued to new towns and worlds,
Departure lounge after arrival,
Would they feel the next was other than this?
Seeing the future only as past tense
Reverberations of the aching foot soldier,
What was that thing they called love?
Cocooned with precious memories
They lapsed within the sunlit hopes.
He’s not the one, but will do for now,
All I can give really, not how it’s meant to be,
Maybe tomorrow he will come back?
Maybe tomorrow I will go back?
What does that make me? Never free,
Never free, who am I?
He smiled and she stared back,
Drowning with the untold facts, as if…
What subtlety breathed in between
The aching hearts, fragile extremes
Another fell, among the living there was no sound,
But at least more logs to keep the fire burning,
That’s all that mattered now…
All that ever would again…
Poem © Phen Weston 2014