No part of this poetry should be reproduced in any form without written consent from the author, Joe DiMino, who retains all rights: contact poet@light-cards.com
"Journeys" (by Joe DiMino)
I wait at the station
Toy with my pen,
Thinking it a sword of sorts
The joust always
To jot new eposode
Or depth into scratches
Beloved though older
(Pen in hand
Ready to make contact
With any opportunity
For aboard)
It is like this with journeys
With writing;
Often scribbling away
Pages
Till finally a phrase
Giving me ticket
For destination to explore
I am my own mysterious train
Shadowy stranger
Seated in a dim-lit corner of mind;
A large brim hat
Tipping light further aside,
Plummeting degree
Of already chilling voice
He goes on about
Depot-treasure: Beware of Writer Assassin! He warns;
Having one purposeto blot out!
A mysterious woman beneath a veil
With haunting lilt of voice
Speaks of owning souls
Can be price for immortal work;
She calls herself Muse
As does he;
As also a puzzled looking child
Waving goodbye from the platform
And a dutiful wife
With mixed expression
Handing her passing fool
A brown paper bag
Speared with outstretched hand
While a large angel atop peak
Of platform summit
With wings a-blur
Feverously fanning away engine smoke
As we depart
Perspiring devils shoveling from tender to engine
Dark with sot
Fire leaping new creation
Out of black coal!
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