I want to be on that runaway train
but this train don't stop there anymore
like Elton John said. And yes, I see
reality is so black and white,
you got that right, not like the stories
I live in through my head. Which I lived in
from a child, and I still do now.
They occupy my head whatever I do
and I fuel them with hope. No, this train
doesn't stop there anymore,
where I'd always get off, poplar trees,
barbed wire, cows and horses in fields
beside the motorway and purple-grey clouds
in the sunset. And always, always
poplars guiding me there.
(23rd November 2013)
YOU ARE READING
Fly Away Home
PoetryHome, where my heart lies. Home, where does the heart lie? pour l'enfance. (2013 - 2014)
