PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Our dirty palms were like soldiers

Holding flowers for our crying mothers

Cracked up, despaired

We claimed each street in
which we walked

Staggering towards a wretched future

The train left a little early that morning

I had meant to say goodbye,

with my palm against your smooth cheek
You have assumed that I did not show
with your face cold against a window

staring out at your new landscape

So I can only pray that these words will
make like fugitives
and run away to you
someday kissing your fingertips as
you skim a book written by a familiar name

I was lost in a sea of buildings and

pulled away by the sway of wind

Like every dream I have,
your face is moving smoke and

haunting
I am always late to catch you

and shaking
Watching the backs of trains disappear into
my chest
My arms flailing
without luck
like a drowning fool
in the sea
of time