March To The Sea

Waiting on the train station, a drizzly dark winter morning,

               Heading to work before the sun comes up, but at least it’s quiet.

 

               Lucky people sleep peaceful and with someone holding them.

               Lucky people find a measure of peace in this world.

 

               My mind is dead and burning, nothing rising from the ashes.

               My heart cannot feel love anymore, not even for her, who I hold on for.

 

               I shiver, out of the rain but not out of the cold, and it’s an endless march,

               To the next day, the next morning, that never comes with a promise of relief.

              

               The train horn howls, the lament of a repentant demon, forever tormented.

               I’ll go to work, I’ll smile and be happy on the outside, I won’t let it show.

 

               I refuse the siren call of laying upon the tracks, to let the demon take me,

               To just no longer be here, because if I’m not here nothing hurts anymore.

 

               I’ll get on the train and soldier through and do my duty, the good son always.

               How can I hope for peace of warmth, when not even tears will come, just the rain?

 

              

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