You woke early in the dark,
thru some coal onto the hearth
brewed up a chipped cup
but gave it me with cracked lips.
You walked down those dripping streets
staring sadly at your feet
looking for faces of your past
in the puddles.
You broke your back every day
Wiping flames and tears away
from your scared face,
and thoughts of another path;
a choice in the crossing of the road
always thinking if this was the one to be rode.
Now you kiss my cheek with gratefulness
as I wash those aching muscles of your back
And I remember our first kiss,
maybe not romantic bliss,
the factory tubes above our head
excited me enough, love amongst the grit.
Then one day I knew you no more
knew I had to walk out of that door,
with my one case,
and find a waiting room.
And I looked around the room.
I saw pain, and hope, dreams, gloom
Should you go or stay?
Turn left or right, a room of possibilities, scared people.
We all travel to other places
another room of waiting faces,
waiting for a change, a train to come
or go, or stay and just wait, ticket un-bought
We are all sat in another waiting room.
Watching the woman still sweeping her broom.
Waiting for the rain to go,
the sun to turn up, the snow to melt away.
Waiting for the frost to peel,
waiting for a chance to feel,
waiting for a yes or a no.
Waiting for a ticket to take us away
somewhere, or maybe home
or just sit and watch, and wait for the next train, and maybe get on.
One time Chef, activist, union organiser, musician, punk rocker, teacher, traveller, eco-lodge owner in Malawi. Lived and drank far too much in 6 countries; travelled to loads more. Love trains, music, books, football, politics, languages, different cultures and food. Written articles on politics, music, travel, culture and food. Stories and poems published in various mags.Two books, one son, one tractor, one eco-lodge in Czech Mountains! His writing can be found at http://www.nickgerrard.com/ .