The Station, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Monet-la gare Saint-Lazare

Claude Monet, The Gare Saint-Lazare (1877)

The Station, Robert A Sieczkiewicz

With suitcase in hand I step from the train.
It is the beginning of a new life.
A new soul and conscience without a stain.
Between you and me no longer be strife.

With anger in its wheels train departed.
Leaving behind a trail of billowed steam.
Have a feeling of being fainthearted.
Now no longer constant in what I deem.

With consternation did look whence I came.
Should the same questions be asked once again?
Would responses be exactly the same?
If so would it be done myself to feign?

The tracks offer the answer, they’d nev’r meet.
Like the tracks, you and I would nev’r accrete.




















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