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Sunday, July 27, 2014

Underground Train

Lovers at train platform on a rainy day

1 --       we laid our tired heads to rest
on the lap of the day; grew lazy
under its shade as we whispered
to each other, slurred the words
we had to say against the patter
of sleepy rain, and talked softer,
and talked and talked of all the
things love would have us do;

how we would never supplant
the stars in our children's eyes
with guilt or too much pride,
for too much cheapens any
commodity; and we'd heard it said
(had heard it often as children)
how life is a train journey,
of compartments, and wagons
and the proverbial stations;

where people will inevitably
step on and off the stops
in your life, and how some
will go and leave great gaps
in their absence, while others
you won't hardly even notice
whether they've gone at all;

but there would be just one
you would know who would
neither board, nor leave,
but be the driver on this
rocky, stationed journey,
putting a break on wheels
to leave a scratching scintilla
of sparks on rails that derail
even the very best of us;

2 --       and as the rain spoke its part,
we listened to the day sleep;
and in respect of the knowledge
of all those other passengers,
fell silent in sound but not
in thought where we journeyed,
held each other tightly knowing
our train had gone underground;

we watched the sun tuck itself in
as we turned to questions of loving
and the heart, and I tried to avoid
the poet's convention of dramatising
all the wonders I saw in your eyes;
to have seen in them the same stars
that would soon shine in our child;

fires that have urged lovers to poetry
throughout the years; lines writing
out the hopes and fears of everyone
we'd known or would know, and how deep
inside beauty can hurt if you always cut
yourself out from the same unforgiving
fabric of firsts in the tone of time;

but we had somehow known that love
thirsts in different ways each time
it burns through you, to burrow you
in the earth tunnelled between the
corridors of your mind and heart,
until that train finally led you

3 --       through the dark to the very
shape of me; and to this lightly
shadowed moment in the rain;
our heads bowed at beauty
that always has the last word;
and we both listened to it gladly,

embraced it as shadow embraces fire,
the darkness absorbed into its heat
to beautify the shapes now past,
the shapes now made, and to come;
through all the seasons, and the one
in which we had begun; it was there
we had found each other like one

finds a poem, or reads a single line
that wakens a sleeping mind
to all the possibilities ahead of us:
how we would continue to sustain
ourselves with hope trained to outlast;
you with your kindness; I within
poetry that makes the rain speak,

ever knowing it pales to the real
story of our parts, for there
resides our true poetry and the real
journey, where we embark, and depart,
searching for the one to break
our wheels or drive us through
to the final home of the heart at last.

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