My Poetry: A Train Stole The Silence

This poem takes place on the shores of Lake Geneva, Switzerland

Back at tired hotel room,

I become bored of watching

Paint flake off the radiator,

Room haunted by your perfume

Pillows that smell

Of your shampoo.

So pull on jeans to escape,

To edge of the great lake

And that big  friend grew bluer

As the sun bleached the sky

Shades of autumn pastel,

Till finally it was black with grief

From inhaling my anxiety

And the slaps of water on harbour wall

Cried: 'Boy I've known sadness

Only the mountains can understand,

So go get a beer and know death

Will not answer your questions,

But silence is not what it promises

And loneliness is poison

Be careful what you wish for'.

So, because some advice

Is worth taking

I stop by an oak top bar

Where two men and a drum machine

Play lift music to a half empty room

And Franklin glares from picture frame

Young, sad and beautiful as a sunset.

And by the third I didn't feel English

And by the fifth I feel French,

Spiking olives as big and plumb

As a new mother's nipple

And watch a salt and pepper man

Remove his gold and leave his friends

For the dark brunette.

And I think of old Hank

And order another half,

He'd know how to conquer

The fear of you not being here.

'Drink the middle shelf and

Buy that brunette a beer', he'd say

Just to screw with that guy

In his five thousand franc suit.

But instead I head back to today's home

Stop on the way to watch

Silent clouds cloak snow capped mountain

The lake undulating at their feet

Like a lover under finger tips,

And realise tenderness can be

For people like me,

Least while my back is turned

To Montreux and the world.