No one there to hold his hand
Or say kind words to ease
Those last precious moments on earth.
When his brain disconnected his eyes
And slowly turned its attention instead
To approaching timelessness…
For the time in-between those States,
We, the lonely left behind, wonder –
Incessantly – if he was frightened
Or fearful, and how long he lay there
Waiting… waiting…waiting…
On Life’s most lonely platform
For that one predestined train?


© griffonner 2023
UKA Editor's Pick!
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critique and comments welcome.
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well-structured poem, very careful, you must have been very focused or when talking about this train you are


A moment captured well


Fabulous! I could go on at length by dissecting the poem, the inherent pain, mystery and truth in every line but I think you know already that I resonate with it all.
Skillful and moving.
Alison x
I wrote a poem once about such a train. I said if memory serves me well, that our loved ones got off at an earlier junction and will be waiting on the platform when our train comes in. xx


The first time I read it, I thought of someone with their head on the rails – waiting; but that say’s more about me, than about the poem. Now I’ve absorbed it more and yes; waiting for that predestined train; and above anything, above all our needs, there is only the one question left to ask: what happens to us when we are dead?

Is it Larkins death ship with its black silent wake?

Thank Griff – a superb work.


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