You’re only what you’ve seen Give what you can Share what you’ve been given Hot air balloons swoon Trains run on schedule You, run on a busy track All kinds of people come here Poor, commuters, homeless and kids Tourists, visitors, locals and police Dogs paw their way over the concourse A dropped phone, smacks Against the white tiles where pigeons escape hawks A screen won’t break as easy As the heart beating to the tears Left behind on this station. Where all kinds of people pass And rarely meet Unless one picks up to give What another Accidentally lost.
You’ll find many different kinds of poetry on Substack. This publication has a series of poems dedicated to trains and train stations. Travel and spots where travellers meet are a natural scene for stories and thus poems where the unexpected will surprise and brighten up your day.
Sorry I haven't been commenting much. There is a sadness behind your words reflecting the anomie of a place where trains run on schedule and yet the travelling masses miss the beauty of swooning hot air balloons - why is it we all find it so difficult even to try to return what another has accidentally lost?
Yes. Please pick up.