He may have always been there,
The man at station four -
He sits there like a marble ghost,
And looks at the polished floor.
His wide-brimmed hat is lowered,
His shoes are wet with rain,
And as the distant whistle blows,
He stands to watch the train.
His eyes are deep with sorrow,
His cheeks are taut and white,
His hands are in his pockets
As he stares into the night.
A man possessed he watches,
His dark eyes rimmed with red,
His shadowed lips are tightened
With the tears he’s never shed.
His chin is ornamental,
His auburn hair ignites,
His face is dipped and wrinkled
In the fast-approaching lights.
But now the train is slowing,
It pulls in with a roar -
The man in the hat is walking
Up to the open door.
He makes his way in silence,
His face is laced with pain,
And the black doors close behind him
As he boards the waiting train.
It starts up with a whistle,
It moves forth with a growl -
His face is in the window
And the wind begins to howl.
Down the track he thunders,
The dark night like a pall,
He races on ‘til the tunnel ends
In a three-foot-thick brick wall.
He may have always been there,
The man at station four -
He sits there like a marble ghost
And looks at the polished floor.
His wide-brimmed hat is lowered,
His shoes are wet with rain,
And as the distant whistle blows,
He stands to watch the train.
Well, I was having trouble rhyming things...and this just sort of happened. I cant make up my mind whether the train is real or not.
I still kinda like it though. Sort of Highwayman-ish. No depth, but a fun ride, hehe.
