Ghost Train
He says "We're leaving on a ghost train baby"and the streets are cold, and its snowing.
Only a denim jacket for warmth and shoes
with designer heels for slipping.
Pausing in the narrow alley by a tattoo shop
the neon lights flashing in time to a
Santa's red whiskey nosed tripe.
She has soul leaving her mouth
and eyelashes glued with frozen tears.
So they stand in a train, that will end
in destination, termination and the blackened tiles
will leave sooty prints, of ghostly hands
as they flailed then failed to save a life.
The Ghost Train whistles and he whispers
"All tracks lead to hell"
Poetry by Elle
Read 569 times
Written on 2012-12-06 at 19:53
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