For Chace, Forever Ago

August 6, 2012
By Chris Parks BRONZE, Glen Allen, Virginia
Chris Parks BRONZE, Glen Allen, Virginia
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

Distant angel echoes on vacant railway platforms
Cool summer breeze sweeping through wrought iron pillars
The sounds of the city seem so wandering, so absent
Yet so connected, through trails of sleek steel
Pulsing with every movement of the veins of civilization
Cold cement slabs stretch out endlessly
Illuminated by the pale glow of the overhead lights
Off in the distance the city longs for slumber
Kept awake by every poet and dreamer who inhabits
The endless maze of run down tenements and fire escapes
Looking to the lonely moon, asking for inspiration
But none is found, for the moon is hardly a whisp
When hidden behind a curtain of smoke and clouds
Smoke that trickles from the thin cigarette factory smokestacks
Silhouetted against the pallor of the town
The town of loners and wanders, corporate cogs
Who dwell in the shadows of failed aspirations
While dwellers search for inspirations
And here I stand, dwelling on the vacant platform
Apart from the city, also apart from humanity
The plains of concrete endlessly stretch before me
I pace them, my weary eyes drawn to the linear rails
My lost mind drawn toward the strange and odd corners
Of the thoughts of those who search for redemption
Through the briefcase and fountain pen
Of the thoughts of those who search for inspiration
Through the street lamps and type writers of the city
Of the thoughts of those who search for a path
Through the trails of the park and forgotten alleys
Of the thoughts of those who search for freedom
Through the rails and wheels of a speeding steel serpent
Who perhaps will take me away from here, not the location
But rather the mind frame of oppression and confusion
That you laid upon me and my soul, for me to always bear
To carry with me, my ugly black ragged suitcase
My torn burden of heartache and hopelessness
The rails lit, the fog sliced by a singular beam
The dull metal doors ache and drag to release and contain
The seats sag and lie crooked and worn, though it makes sense
As I am crooked and worn, aching from being dragged
The pointless perspectives rotate past the glass window
Showing me nothing changes and existence is but a show
Before my tired eyes and the eyes of the one I never knew

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