The Last Train

Today as I walked through a wooded area not far from home, I began to think of a poem in which I could challenge myself. Thus the title came to mind and from that is the poem below. Sad to say I have no beautiful backstory to it than a challenge to myself. No heart breaking story or cute moments, Just a challenge that I wanted to test how I would arrive at from a title to begin with.

I started out with a thought of a lover waiting for his hearts desire to arrive. But only to find whilst lost in thought the train had arrived and she waited in the cold wet evening. BUT what it ended up being has to be said to be at the very least a little different to that. BUT the thought or intention of that was there, yet now only serving as a space filler I the least.

What I ended up recalling from the ending to this poem was an experience in my late teens, as a young lad who struggled with a stutter and worked with methods to overcome it and finally with success. I brought a brief recall to end that poem with. A young man who tried to begin a conversation but stuttering hindered and effected confidence to carry out the self set task. This was the ending of this poem, an experience as a young fellow helped to bring this little piece into the ending.

I do hope that you will at least enjoy.

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The Last Train

Waiting for the last train to arrive,
Rain fell as everything felt alive.
This quiet country station lost in time, NOT,
So it seemed in a passing thought. 

Pacing to and fro to keep warm,
Passing time as thoughts perform,
Any inner notions to entertain,
Until all thoughts were finally slain.

Worried that she changed her mind,
Or decided and had thus stayed behind.
Blind without her devoid of life,
Heart beat on knife point full of strife.

Lost in a river of thoughts I Paced,
Still chased feelings from view such waste.
The train was early and had long gone,
Blaming traffic and quiet excuses to act on.

Now dazed by her sight before me,
Playing taxi never felt to agree.
Tempted to converse and failed to begin,
Stuttering out of place without form to spin. 

©  Pat Fitzgerald 2022

Thank you for reaching this far in this post, I am always encouraged that folks read these posts and that my poetry has reached the eyes of readers.

If you or any reader wish to make a comment I always welcome with an open heart. I merely ask that any comment is made in a polite manner, so as to avoid any insult that anyone may find within these posts.

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