I saw your ghost on a train downtown -
it beckoned me to walk down memory lane once more

What a feverish recollection of unspoken dreams,
for familiarity of passing your stop created this melancholy haste -
the agony of persisting despite the lack of closure

your shadows still linger on the platform as I push forward,
ever reminding me of what could have been; nostalgia.

the girl with the cupid's bow lips whispering into your ear that forever is in the drink that you weigh on the heaviness of your palm when you feel nervous and you think no one can notice
but i notice
don't look back or you'll trip into the things you were supposed to be falling in love with
tell me to rely on blind faith and i'll make sure to keep my eyes open during your family's prayer circle during Christmas
i want to open all the fruits you accidentally let rot in your kitchen with my bare hands and tell you that things die so there's something to feel afterwards
i wish i could explain myself in the same way a hand that twitches might also tremble and the reason is never very important
i want to package all the poems and give them to you as forgiveness
as an apology on too many amphetamines
like the ones we took one night and ended up at a desolate gas station and feeling that in that moment
all time was spinning in a wheel waiting for me to reach out and disrupt the movement going on since i could speak
but i was too distracted on all the candied wrappers with my name written on them
so i spoke too soon and the cigarettes fell out of my purse and you said that life was in all the lines in our skin like that of a tree
spinning
spinning
spinning

Bing bing **** annouce
train to Chiang Mai departs soon!
the king sleeps dog barks

I found my Savior when he died
passed from life, yet to rise
surrounded by the ones who cared
ready to move him to a tomb.

Nature was the frame without
asking me to look within
where I've given up my sins
with knowledge that he'd rise again.

The garden held the station's crest
put upon a bright green wall
proceeded by twelve milestones
with best as last, praise the Lord.

Acceptance of the longest walk
a day that saved this humble soul
the stone showed the sacrifice
while spring's rebirth foretold more.

I'll stand here to declare his gift
the covenant of God to men
before I leave this gladed place
to live again as Jesus did.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170426.

The dimly lit doorway

into a place where you only

spend five minutes and five bucks

the place between lost

and I’m willing to lose it all

the highway, a tongue

and this, just a taste bud

the simple reward of sweet

combined with the punishing truth

that this is the last stop before the end

this is where I find

what I’m looking for

The next station is love forlorn,
Broken hearted from empty promises from the one who made you believe, in Cupid's hunt and Romeo's fight however tragic it may seem.

The next station is love returned,
You celebrate life's purpose and meaning fulfilled, the sun shines on children playing, laughter and song fills the hills and you smile in the certain knowledge that all is as it was meant to be.

The next station is loss,
Dark days loom with shadows cast by the person no longer here, the newly formed ghost cries spirit tears which stain the depths of your haunted eyes; you will never see that face again.

The next station is faith and spirituality,
Jump on and off with the regularity of hobos and with all of their thought and deliberation, flip a coin and choose your path, your plans and intentions are mere butterflies facing the cosmic storm and no 'god' will save you from life's rotten breath.

The next station is you,
A culmination of thoughts, feelings and experiences, some of which you acknowledged, most were spun by your subconscious with the greasy excellence of a politician on campaign.

Some of you love yourself, most do not; you're locked in constant battle with an inner monologue which preaches self-hate and immolation, cast out that voice as you would a demon for its only validation comes from your accepting attention.

The next stop is your freedom,
Awaken; your mind, body and soul are yours to do with as you choose, feed all three with gluttonous abandon and find a path not yet traveled, for your life and it's purpose are not the reflection of anyone who came before or will arrive after, it is yours and yours alone to discover should you brave getting off at this station.

Thursday morning and I board
the Preston train, a dumpy DMU,
but less of a cattle-truck today.

Over the bridge or beneath
lines to Platform 5 to wait:
Branson's Scarlet Pendolino
will glide in soon bound
for Birmingham - wonder
who I shall meet and share
travelling moments with ?

At the caverns of New Street
I must wend to Moor Street
and a Chilterns train trundling
me south for Warwick's 1,100th.
birthday weekend and 100 years
since trains of Lancashire PALS
cattle-trucked themselves to
Flanders fields never to return.

(c) C J Heyworth June 2014