Poetry (words)

The station

The place where journeys start, where bonds begin and end. Where the timetables change in the blink of an eye and loving arms extend.

I like the sound my case makes as the concrete changes to wood. How the curves in the grain go on living as nature intended they should. 

I like how phones become useless all eyes fixed to the matrix board. “On time” and “cancelled” at the flick of a switch controlling the mesmerised horde. 

The wrought iron steps that my dad would climb at the end of every shift. They still remain and I see him smile in memories now, but such a gift. 

Coffee and flowers fill the air with their unmistakable blend of perfume. Whatever the weather is outside this place can erase the gloom. 

This is where I come to feel close to you, a place where you’ve never been. Where my journey began on platform one, a journey that now feels like a dream. 


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