Train station light glances out
from between the darkness
and the pitch black.
I watch the grey moonlight
casting its spell upon the tracks.
I see the distance waving back,
where dreams expire
and hope lives a million miles away,
in far-away towns with church spires
piercing the sky like crooked spears.
The heavens scream
bringing down the sting of rain
that pushes my hair down
to cover my face in that grey
soot stain like a crown of winter,
only I am no king.
My eyes tire from the tears
I let hang heavily
before blinking them
away to slowly drain from
where they usually stay.
Longing leaves on one train
whilst misery arrives on the otherwise
empty carriage that comes in
through the slate sheet of grey.
Derelict thoughts sit in the
cold metal seats beside the tracks.
I sink further back.
I wonder where they are...
Those memories that left to travel,
the ones that would go far
whilst my dreams laid back
too scared to embark
in case they got lost
somewhere in the dark.
And in that station I hear
the ghosts that hide in the brickwork,
a whistle in the wind. An unkind voice
singing something mean.
The ghosts that lurk in the memories,
crumbling into the dirty puddles
that reflect the sheen of the station lights
like an oily mirror of night,
and I hear their echoes
as another southbound train rumbles by,
but my dreams exist in a different sky.
I place that crown of winter
onto the seat beside and step out
into the night.
Thanks for reading
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Peace, Love & Poetry
Kyle
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