The Passenger

A ship in the night aligned its cargo to the stars.
But nobody heard or saw its departure.
With thoughts of a new century,
Of new memories to be made,
In the silent house
Everything became dust.
Black river, dancing
With a bottle in the mirror,
Waiting for the invitation to come.
Like a sigh lost in the wind
Or a wilted flower born of dreams,
In the too long, the only escape is
Nowhere.
Age changes us —
Belief and time are linked,
But your life is now an empty platform
In the morning.

© 2017 Occasional Dreams
In response to daily prompt: Invitation
Image: The Train Station by Jake Stimpson / CC BY

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6 Replies to “The Passenger”

  1. there’s something about a platform and the anticipation of a train that….i am lost for words right now…but i think you caught it all in that piece of poetry – “Like a sigh lost in the wind
    Or a wilted flower born of dreams,” – reminds of Yeats on a good day.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you. That’s what I tried to capture, the anticipation of waiting for something in the hope it will take us far away, and yet with a slight doubt that it may never arrive.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. or we may never get on and let that dream train leave the platform, endless possibilities never explored. I am a rambler, I can go on when the right words hit a spot and the stain grows wide and warm. I appreciate your gift with the words and the feelings it brings.

        Liked by 1 person

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