These are the places you haunt,
abandoned places of light and dark
and graffiti from passers by,
declarations and cries for help,
love letters and condemnations,
obituaries of hope.
None of them here. Now. A few pass through,
a few stayed a night, then moved on,
leaving their mark, leaving their emotions
in a few short words, a hobo’s sign
for tourists like me, unaware
of the details, but feeling them nonetheless,
About this poem.
My life is quiet just now, But around me, there is so much pain, fear, loss, anger, and worry. I am in constant prayer, their emotions bleeding into mine. Being human.
The picture was taken in a train graveyard in Bellows Falls, VT.