A child behind me is crying
Someone two rows up is laughing
Across me an old man is snoring
Mouth open like he forgot to finish his sentence
And I’m in the middle
Not sure if I’m leaving or arriving
Not sure who I’m supposed to be when the train stops.
_
My seat is backward-facing
It makes it hard not to look back
And harder to look forward
The future just a fleeting reflection in the window.
-
The pale grey sky, is deciding to rain or not
My coffee is growing cold, but I won’t let go
No one knows my name here
Or the tears streaking the bathroom stall.
-
Every tunnel feels like it won’t end
Thick darkness pressing against the windows
But I know they will
And I’ll have to step off
Somewhere
With a name I’ve rehearsed out loud in the emerald kitchen I no longer own
A name that now rolls of my tongue
But still doesn’t sound like anything familiar .
About the Creator
T. Licht
I have a love for words and a love to share them.
Enjoy! and thank you for taking the time to read this and maybe if you want subscribe and buy my new poetry book Whispers at Twilight
Warm blessings
Bless those kind souls who Still take the time to comment Truly, it warms hearts. ''''''''''' Hoping the new year will usher in changes. Many of your comments take a while to become visible below my stories, so I am way behind on answering. But I try my best to read a story or two of the kind commentor - when I see the notification, as best I can.
By Novel Allen7 days ago in Poets
Comments (1)
Gosh this was so good. So melancholy but fantastic. Especially the feeling of being in backwards facing seats on a train.