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The Train

I took the train as evening fell to night,
Driving into the bright sun spots of morning light
That broke the focus of street lamps and neon signs.
In my eyes I saw a thousand particles filtered through glass,
Colors that rang out in the silver cutlery
Grasped by the hands of track side diners.

They had their meals in the city’s lucid morning,
Consuming the last of a scant moment
Unnoticed to the living souls.
And I found my purpose
In the glittering
Newborn fog.

I took the train to see,
To feel the breeze that skin might feel,
To breath where breath is never felt,
To see the hands Death's forces dealt;
I've grown so frail.

What was it that I said those many years ago?
I said something with purpose,
with meaning,
Something that mattered
Unlike anything before.
I can't remember.
All I see are unwashed plates,
White porcelain shifting in the sun's gaze.

Submitted: Monday, December 23, 2013
Edited: Sunday, January 26, 2014


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Comments about this poem (The Faces in the Crowd by Matthew Thomas Donovan )

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  • Elias Uddin (12/24/2013 1:03:00 PM)

    I took the train to see,
    To feel the breeze that skin might feel,
    To breath where breath is never felt,
    To be the dead that hadn't knelt.

    1 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
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