Final Chapter

The train has halted, breathing

Two doors slam slam, presenting

The country silence like a prize

No turnstile, no man in uniform

And now, too soon, the lane

My steps resound, silent suitcase

In sweaty hand, gliding free

Above the baking asphalt

The afternoon surrounds

Concealing signs of life

Where is this, where this is

Matters and matters not yet ---

Here have I sought what can only be nameless

To find final days

Leaving names behind

There is nothing here.

Behind the teeming clutter of what is recognised

A waiting void, birthing the sight

Of the newborn

Decades have served, now life begins

Reviews

[willweb]

They say, whoever they are, that you cannot go home again and I have tried a few times and they, whoever they are, are right. That is what I got out of your poem this morning. Though, I could be way off. This could be the final ride, the last destination of the train trip that is life. Either way, your style is quite good and I enjoyed this a lot.