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Poem

How long do you wait with no journey to make?
Low sun dries the morning dew
alone on a platform you feel a dull ache
that tells you its long overdue
 
Autumn’s coming or is it the fall?
The leaves on the line make you wait
The phone’s in your hand but there’s no one to call
And tell them you’re going to be late
 
Malevolent images have messed with your mind  
Like a hard drive of short painful slides
But today you’ve chosen to leave them behind
On a journey that ends in suicide
 
The world doesn’t stop there’s no bolt from above
A lorry is emptying bins
Your mind can’t control all the things that you love
Your mind can’t absolve all you sins
 
You make the first move there’s no going back
You feel a sharp shift down below
There’s strong smell of oil and there’s **** on the track
And you stare into oncoming yellow...
 
Life goes on...
with a minor delay
as they bag up your things
as they wash you away
your actions made at least 55 late
let them wait
and call you inconsiderate
life goes on...

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