The last words he ever spoke to her…

On a deserted platform

tumbleweed trains

no longer come

a sign creaks and groans

the waiting room windows

cracked and misted

no more voices

only the ghosts and echoes

they took the tracks

for scrap iron

no whistles strident

the barrier now, always down

In the corner

a brown paper bag

pulled tight

to hold his words

The last ones he ever spoke to her

Wrapped up with a bow

and secreted under the sill

a ticket office

and the faint smell of piss

1664 say the cans

bent and broken

empty Rizzla packets

at old Holborn

Was it that long ago?

a bent and crippled teaspoon

The Times, part charred

and silver paper swans

they swim in the debris

In the corner

a brown paper bag

pulled tight

to hold his words

The last ones he ever spoke to her

In the Tardis of time

his name now taboo

no one dare ask

the name, Dr Who?

days become months

and merge into years

soon only a whisper

washed in the tears

In the corner

a brown paper bag

pulled tight

to hold his words

The last ones he ever spoke to her

The rain bells its toll

and the moss takes a bite

the paper gets thinner

and fades in the light

sagging and crumpled

now wet to the core

knowing that he is

no longer a part, of the lore

written in daisies

that chained up his heart

eternity keeps them

forever apart

In the corner

a brown paper bag

…… …..

.. …. … …..

The last ones he ever spoke to her

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s