I was reading a dead mans news paper
on the last train home
predicament carved
his penchant voice
spoke frail
from each word
I read his story
tundra soul reaching out
vaster than sky
rarer than arctic lupin
one day that never arrives
within fresh steam from a kettle
he will dream about wearing
his unused shoes
from his bruised hand
russets brush
over asphalt
tramping trodden
night mares
erupt from his torso
as they gallop
fumes fall
from their nostrils
this train
has never
left me since
Copyrights Rian April 2025
all rights reserved
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Author:
Mourgana of the Fey (
Offline) - Published: April 14th, 2025 01:50
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 1
Offline)
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