(Photo credit)train tracks
The train station is lit
by a series of bare lightbulbs,
casting a toxic green glow
down onto the semicircular tunnel.
Under the glare of the lights,
the train tracks are black-
weary of thousands of wheels
churning out their life stories on
frustrated tracks overflowing with
too many secrets. Early morning
commuters huddle under faint
directional signs, waiting for
a train, their passport through
holes of darkness to
French cafés and crisp bakeries
by a series of bare lightbulbs,
casting a toxic green glow
down onto the semicircular tunnel.
Under the glare of the lights,
the train tracks are black-
weary of thousands of wheels
churning out their life stories on
frustrated tracks overflowing with
too many secrets. Early morning
commuters huddle under faint
directional signs, waiting for
a train, their passport through
holes of darkness to
French cafés and crisp bakeries
and small musty bookstores,
the shelves crammed with poetry books
full of train tracks that no one will read.
My inspiration for this poem came from here.
2 comments:
Great poem! I felt like I was in the poem once again.
Great poem! It's really mysterious and...awesome;]
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