Then sought the path right or left,
Is long weeping a way before bereft,
His feet treading this pathless road,
A distant way is not darkness be showed,
Nor time is but long has been fought,
Nor silence is he that hours is wrought,
Pulls the mud with him this stricken way,
Pulls the light from vacuum where it lay,
Vapes another lest more is anger fed,
Bows before a rain what place he’s led,
And but phone is to guide him to place,
Is but done the choice he has to face,
Reaches the crossroads the station kept,
Nor ticket nor food but lonely he kept,
Nor car is he this evening once to learn,
Now the train bound for somewhere to yearn,
But traffic then is it that got postponed,
Sits idly at the gathering he postponed,
Lost both now he’ll the train to catch,
Would hug rails the train he to catch,
Is miles from where he once he was,
Is miles from a train past his loss,
Nor time to make now the late feast,
But by minutes is closer here at least,
Equips the earphones for silence kept,
Away from everyone in silence he wept,
Boards the train for east not for west,
A man that blocks him that smile at best,
Dares to spit at him for a door blocked,
More blood boils yet on seat he docked,
Carries away to a silent noise thrown,
A lingering light from aside is shown,
The glittering pace of home he sow,
A bitter sound he heard miles an echo.

Life, Nature, Nocturnal, Poetry, Works
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