The Waiting

Two people and the promise of a train.
There’s still one more hour to wait –
that’s one more injury to bind,
when every time I start to speak –
just then you face away.
And so the darkness deepens . . .
one more hour.

Two people and a journey in the night.
There’s still one more mile
to pass through one more town.
Just then, night’s hand brushes my cheek –
a touch as cold as your indifference.
And all the while . . .
rains endless drifting down.

Poem by Dom Varney
Copyright © 2014 Dom Varney
No unauthorised commercial usage