Origin of Poetry- Will Goldin, May 27, 2012
Train station poetry,
Dark art of the english language.
What about this industrialized, automated, technology-saturated
Excuse for “progress”
Makes my pen flow so freely, so unabated?
What impetus is this?
Rusted tracks with faded rust,
Peeling benches with faded peelings,
These are no sights not easy to miss.
Is it the oneness of it all?
The cautious human speech,
The carefree songbird’s screech,
that together do so enthrall?
I know not, save this station does compel me.
And so, these verses I have wrote,
and more verses will be writ,
Ere the urge to create doth rise up and fell me.