Train Station A long time I sit and wait for a train. When it arrives, I will not dare board it, I am not ready to leave - yet all the same, I ascend the stairway to the bridge, and sit. The bridge above, I sit, I watch, I dream, Of the day a train comes for me and then I go to see the worlds beyond that seem To be not for me, but for other men. Fantastic worlds, revealed to me by books, By the words of friends when such words are said, By aunts and uncles more wild than I am tame, Or within the looking-glass glanced looks, Perhaps I'll have such eyes before I'm dead? There I sit - I sit and wait for my train. Teenage Poetry He arrives home late, prepared to fight, His father has waited up and slowly begins: "Why can't you get along with the other lines, Wear the same metre, try to rhyme right?" Unphased, this young rebellious line's prepared, So he raves, "I try my best, never enough, So what's the point in trying?", feeling tough. A fatal reply, a sigh, then their snared. "Why can't you be more nor - ", then he cuts short, But the line still gasps, and then starts to growl, "Be more normal!?! I hate you, and all you do! I never asked to be written", he's hurt. But years later, although still run afoul, He tries harder still, but somehow still seems to screw up, he's just a teenager at heart and struggles to fit in.
These still need some work, I just wanted to get the ideas down. The end poems will probably be much different from this, just first drafts.
