PhilosophicalThere is that special smell of human pain
that grows closer everytime you see a train
taking away a life,a world that may never come back
turn around to take a glance at the past.
Sunday morning and the sun is still dead
there is that sorrowful buzz inside her head
as she watches him get on the train
in her heart she feels that old,heavy strain.
She waits because he may come back and say bye
but he turns away and leaves her drowned in despair
the dirty grounds of the station and the old,antique walls
make her lungs long for some fresh air.
There is that same old song that fills our childhood dreams
but afterwards we eliminate our memories like robots
in all our life we long to find that supposedly missing piece
when all we search for is our childhood comforts.
We wait for trains in stations we never visited before
but the trains won't come and pick us up.
Then we realise we've done something wrong
but we're too idle to look back.
But there's that special moment when we all ask ourselves
"what am I doing here?" and wonder
then we put our guns down and bow down to the ground
and cry for those that are lost, lost and never found.
There is that innocence inside of us,that simple joy
that we are all unstripped of when we are young
The days when he played around like a little boy
are those who are doomed to never come back.
Poetry by Eva
Read 334 times
Written on 2009-07-02 at 12:25
Save as a bookmark (requires login)
Write a comment (requires login)
Send as email