Untitled #17

The brown splintered wood connected by the rails
that wind and bend down the tracks to the horizon,
I have followed.

Dusty brown gravel-covered, shady country roads
that weave and dip to places no one ventures,
I have travelled.

Dark, soily waters gurgling, rushing around banks of foliage
and trees to wider spaces where the fishes swim free,
I have bathed.

Dusty, cob-webbed and dark rooms, dank and untidy,
with warped floorboards that creak where I fear not to tread,
I have lived.

All of the places in my mind come together at night
while I sleep with the hope to dream of tomorrow
before I wake.

When I rise, the sun departs, the walls fall down as
my heart sinks a little deeper into oblivion because
I am alone.



Maybe I should name this one?