04-12-2013, 10:37 AM
The Young Man
The young man awaits
For screeches of a train
Lights flicker, older men state,
“There, time is here”
And cane in hand, money to pay
Quickly walks away.
The young man treading
Through narrow halls and
Unfamiliar faces, warned
From his path. “It is done,”
They call, shaking their heads.
“Again ‘tis repeating,” they say.
The young man now backward falls
Knowing nothing to learn, nor
Anything to remember. “Those calls,”
He says, “They will never help.”
Aboard the train he returns,
His journey, he never learns.
The young man awaits
For screeches of a train
Lights flicker, older men state,
“There, time is here”
And cane in hand, money to pay
Quickly walks away.
The young man treading
Through narrow halls and
Unfamiliar faces, warned
From his path. “It is done,”
They call, shaking their heads.
“Again ‘tis repeating,” they say.
The young man now backward falls
Knowing nothing to learn, nor
Anything to remember. “Those calls,”
He says, “They will never help.”
Aboard the train he returns,
His journey, he never learns.