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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required A man sits on a train Waiting or at least hoping for an e-mail He stares at the laptop that sits atop his lap With unwavering concentration As the train pulls out of the city The morning sky is shot with scarlet shards On aquamarine The countryside flies by In beauteous early summer shades Pigeons and foxes And sleepy thatched hamlets After a while the train slows And through the picket fences beyond platform A The man’s childhood friends can be seen Jumping from swings and on to the roundabout Joyous in holiday freedom If only he could avert his eyes And then gone On through mill town O’er tall gothic bridges Steeples and black glass tower blocks To red brick leafy suburbs Corner pubs and smoking chimneys Faded metal hoardings and avenues prim Further down the line The train slows again And on the green wood bench across the tracks Sits the woman loved and lost Alone and smiling sweet as honey Eyes closed in warm meditation Just a call away But the man remains silent Transfixed and determined The train meanders through mountains of grandeur Past star sparkle rivers and fairytale forests Shoreline, glen and tunnels of steam That all remain unseen When the train slows again The man’s mother looks out through the waiting room window A pale and all loving dewy eyed angel Who waves in sweet resignation At her son who sits on the train Evening bows to night as the train rumbles on Streetlight reflected on the shower fresh streets The moon makes silhouette of distant woods and cooling towers ‘til dark clouds extinguish it’s gaze Eventually the train grinds towards its halt And as it does Suddenly There in the inbox – Ping! Double clicked his eyes eagerly scan the message Which simply reads “you have reached your destination”
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