Easy way to do what was Hard

Its been awhile since I wrote anything here maybe two years but I'm glad I arrived here.

           

              Before we forgo what seems to be lost and found turning different directions, 

                 Did your heart said this out loud or was it mine asking a blind man for directions in changeable streets?

                        Sometimes I believe it was just dying out sounds from the railroad as the cabin windows are always the same 

                  with the sights changing constantly. 

                            The handful of memories blaring the streets like sirens, 

                             an emergency alarming those eyes buried in the past where I hear nothing else but those sounds, sounds of something else.

                                 Though I know they will forever be here, competitive to a lifestyle that would sometimes offer a badge.

                                       

                     This Train has no designations for me only the highway of never ending dreams pretending to be nightmares,

                                                      those simple nights that make the moon bleed too much with never ending tears that doesn't even fill the future fleeing lights.

As a kid before I knew nothing more. Only now I answer on the plea, 

that sifting memories for evidence to give my eyes an excuse to be moonstruck wasn't exactly taking me home

Dreams was the river that never cried for help. 

                                               

 

                                                                         

Author's Note

what do you think?

Reviews

[barleygirl]

Not sure of the overall message, tho this narrator sounds to be in the midst of mental torture. I love the imagery of the train going by, nothing ever changes, the view out the window is the same -- this reminds me of the various forms of mental distraction or madness which passes over a person every so often (like anxiety attacks or mood swings). Not being mad all the time, being mostly functional, but then having those flashes of paranoia that sweep thru like a train, toppling a person off his/her game or whatever. That's a thought-provoking bit of imagery (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[Andrew Nelson Stewart]

This one is very old but I Love how you found this one by blowing dust off it. Then again I believe every poem created takes pieces from your soul yet you still have mazes to go through before you arrive at satisfactory. Thanks again :)

[Zhavy]

This is great, really like the rhymes scheme and transitions, especially the layout. Very well put together

[Andrew Nelson Stewart]

I appreciate your sincere message man, poetry is life and life is poetry. As Allen Ginsberg put it " Poetry is our one place to the world to express which is kept private."