PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

The train slowed to a halt
Miles before my stop.
I was being ferreted out
From the safe space of my car.
Now I’d have to walk.

Expired ticket in hand,
Once worthy of entry,
Is now but a bittersweet souvenir:
Reminder of a ride hitherto enjoyed
When speed was steady
And skies were clear.

But as new passengers board
I pine for the comfortable box
That once held me.
Now a housing for others
Which is, I suppose, how trains work.

But that hardly quells me.

I watch the machine
Re-engage, and pull away slowly
As smoke starts to billow. 
Chasing it down ‘fore it’s good and gone
Just to glimpse
Another's head on my pillow.