The Good place

My Train Back In Time

Hello,
Meet the dork.
A man like uncooked pork.
Scratch that.
I was roasted yesterday.
Meet the man made up of cooked clay.

I was here for work.
To get some, actually.
I am jobless , frankly.
Isn't it obvious?

I want to be a teacher, of sort.
More like a beacon, less like a port.
Apparently, beacons are prone to lonely islands.
Probably didn't have enough connections.

So,
I was depressed, as they say.
Too much water in the clay.
And a lot of salt.
“Was it really my fault?“
I questioned myself again and again,
as I wait for the evening train.

This train is supposed to take me back.
Trust me, the ‘back’ isn't exactly a sip of Cognac.
Suddenly, my stomach felt a bit fluttery.
I saw you in this proverbial purgatory.

Beware, beware! Reader,
I am not a creeper.
You might not believe me.
The least you could do is read.

There need not any rife.
Tear this paper and it'll be undone.
Although,
for the first time in my life
I couldn't stop looking at someone.

Let me take you through John Green’s mind.
He usually knows how to move your kind.
Let this novel never end.
Let our communication never suspend.

Dear, dear lady,
flattery is not the purpose of this piece.
But, sidenote;
Your skin is complemented by that fleece.
On myself, I'm probably losing my power.
You became my savior straw,
the flattery’s just me returning the favour.
This is the story:
Depressed turned to distressed.
Distressed turned to gloom.
Gloom was followed by self-pity.
Was on the lookout for a tomb.
Tomb-search led me to this purgatory.
Then a sighting.
Some peeping and,
some flattery.
Conclusion was with a rewind,
rejuvenation and,
revival of faith.
You fit in somewhere just after my death.
Summing it up, I'd say;
I was hopeful then I wasn't.
Then I saw you and it built a reverse shunt.
Although, it was on the 11th chime,
You became my beacon.
You became my train back in time.