ArtsAutosBooksBusinessEducationEntertainmentFamilyFashionFoodGamesGenderHealthHolidaysHomeHubPagesPersonal FinancePetsPoliticsReligionSportsTechnologyTravel
  • »
  • Books, Literature, and Writing

The Itinerant Itinerary.

Updated on December 30, 2009

 

My fate foretold by a

crystal ball inside a tiny room


owned by a psychic in the

twisted maze work of the city,


she gazed on me with silence

sadly shaking her wrapped head.


I left her mimed damnation

amidst chilly wisps of white


The night was pristine, stars above

and clouds of fog below,


The clock upon the tower lied,

its hands both stuck at midnight,


All dreams eventually shatter

and it's then we must move on

.
A boxcar standing open

beckoned me to take the train,


the clickety-clack of its

steel wheels a rhythmic lullaby,


as I faded towards the distance

of  last chances undiscovered.


A dandelion, a dreaded weed,

amidst a violet garden.


I scrabbled for my last smoke,

now flat broke its taste I savored,


as I stood beside the open hatch,

an orphan of forever,


a sudden lurch,

set me to falling,

where train wheels granted peace.

 

Comments

    0 of 8192 characters used
    Post Comment

    • pbwriterchick profile image

      pbwriterchick 7 years ago

      hmm... I like how the ending to this can be interpreted a few different ways. My only friend.. the end. Or a wake-up call.. Cool write!