My Poetry: It Takes a Train to Forget part 1

 

Prised from your arms,

I turned to stone in her embrace
This city offers no milk of inspiration
From her tainted breast
My wet nurse cannot sate
This appetite for isolation.
Soiled senses see trees
Used as grey urban ornaments,
Grass a 20 bag hipster accessory.

Prised from your bosom,

I turn ghost white in the half-light
Of fluorescent city streets,
Your pleasant, ancient beauty
Used to sooth my blues,
But too long
In the exhausting fumes
Of bricks and morter vista
Have calcified my senses.

Prised from your touch

Empathy dulls, as I settle
In concrete confinement
With sullied city machines,
Pavements smog thick
With broken men marching
From door-to-door-to-door-to-door.
Punching keyboards, clock
Watching, waiting for weekend reprieve
From jobs which define their happiness.

Oh, country,
Prised from your bosom,
It Takes a Train to Forget
The city.