Because the empty station only longs to know the day,
The sleeping hours wait smoothly, as their anguish drifts away;
Leaves me somewhere so far gone; though who's the one to say
The day is lost, I don't belong; forgotten now, the way.
Your cigarette smoke homes in, on my lonely choking heart,
Gone the distance, in a moment, even though we are apart,
And the second leaving; dying, leaves me thoroughly emptied out-
Because I'm the empty station, has filled itself with doubt.
This is the kind of poetry I savour, a little bit rock, a little bit lonely. Thanks, Patricia.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
None of my votes are sticking. Otherwise, you'd have a full room of 10's at this point. Dear reader, mind the gap and continue along on the journey of Patti's poetry... -c