#stations
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.
Apr 3, 2023
Apr 3, 2023 at 4:08 PM UTC
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
Dec 3, 2018
Dec 3, 2018 at 1:22 AM UTC
Bing bing **** annouce
train to Chiang Mai departs soon!
the king sleeps dog barks
Oct 12, 2017
Oct 12, 2017 at 4:46 AM UTC
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.
Apr 27, 2017
Apr 27, 2017 at 5:11 AM UTC
Station's love ...
At the night ...
laying into my settee ...
alone watching TV ...
running throughout bore ...
at this long night ...
dancing within thoughts ...
i get all about you ...
about all memories ...
which we spent before ...
taking me to that date ...
which it was a first day ...
that i met you there ...
at that station by chance ...
suddenly without date ...
when our eyes met ...
and got sheen ...
through a soft smile ...
created on my face ...
with no any words ...
then ...
word by word ...
eyes speech ...
not lips said ...
word by word ...
the heart felt ...
as the beats tells ...
come on ...
be more close ...
to be then ...
the first date ...
that we got with no date ...
at the station ...
to be our station's love ...
which we started from there ...
laying into my settee ...
alone only with my thoughts ...
which it tells all about you ...
about the love ...
and how much i miss you ...
hazem al ...
Nov 25, 2016
Nov 25, 2016 at 1:56 PM UTC
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
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 9:43 PM UTC
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.
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 3:00 AM UTC
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
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 11:47 AM UTC