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the train back home
The cold is leaving the air
And the smell of the grass is sneaking in.
The train is bringing me home,
The home where I was the reckoning.
My body shivers in the summer while remembering,
Remembering how the other me was acting.
The lowest part of my soul is gravitating
In the cafés, passages, and places,
Without fear, shame, nor guilt,
Screaming: here I am — have you thought of changing?
I respond with anger: I have, have you?
And she said: why change when you know what's coming?
The duality of my selves keep rhyming,
And the place where once was home is shifting.
Did I leave that façade in this city?
Did I come back new and with eyes of pity?
Trying to fit in the mold of desperation,
Knowing deep down my true consolation is just building a new foundation.
Copyright ©
May Brouss
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