Poemetry: At the Station

Long sat I in the station chair

Staring compelled by sparrow eyes,

Perching below brisk, rainy skies.

Flit, they flit, from my steady stare

As I brush back her wilted hair.

Lovely, she smiles, trembles, and sighs

Honeysuckle. Sparrows arise

To a fogged morning with despair.

A crackling voice bids me obey

And I stand and walk to the door.

Now the fog is her’s, calling for

Me, ‘Go no further. Not today.’

Two options within my soul war:

Do I board? Rather, do I stay?

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