‘Edenbray in Exile’

A Retrospective Anthology of Poetry, Articles and Essays

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trains in the night …

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u  u  u 

If honesty wore a gown or sat in shop doorways

Bound by the collection of photographs in my card box

If it danced insanely wearing a cap labelled ‘hurt’

Maybe truth would restart and matters clear

Like light that is golden frames the gaps between clouds

Or settles on that honest place between her breasts

Where love, art and memory fuse and confirm there is beauty

u 

Honesty less honourable would take a different journey

Use device or scheme to loose the lounging tiger

Those green eyes lowered forgetful might wander like ants

But paradise is full of heroes who suffered worthy

The consolation of the consoled only slight and weary

For justice there is no remedy, no cause, no reward or certainty

But for trains that travel through the night there is only sycophancy

u  u  u 

writtenbyedenbray14.10.2013

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#Authors Note – This is another potential tale of broken hearts – or maybe of the one broken heart, its unclear. A tale of hurt, of pain, of tragedy! The pain like blood that oozes on the tracks where two trains passed one night or possibly several nights or days and both turned out to be less than honest with themselves or with each other. Sycophancy it seems may have got the better of both in the end before one faced the truth while the other had not the guts to hurl themselves from the train of circumstance but chose to nurse their hurt, a caged wildcat that would eventually scar them both terribly.

No Brief Encounter, then for these two of lost love’s children – just sadness, regret and enduring pain which is always the trouble with those who trust their love to brief moments found while passing on a train.                                                                             edenbraytoday