Scarred Windows

Little poem I wrote on the train


1. Scarred Windows

The marks on my window,
The scars of past journeys,
The imperfect reminders,
Of a thousand other stories,
Of other tiring souls,
Other busy souls,
Restless souls,
Who, watching the same dismal landscape,
Found thoughts wandering,
The same way,
To somewhere darker now gone,
To somewhere brighter, still to come,
To the time if only they could change,
To a time they long to know again,
To a time far away,
From those marks on the window,
And the stifled, silent tears,
As they cried a journey,
From city centre on a train.

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