Desolation Station

desolationstation

They come–the tattered,

the wretched, the battered–

To wait by the tracks in the station.

 

But the train’s not been here

in a number of years,

since sorrow became the only oblation.

 

With liquor and song

they forget how they long

for the days when their lives seemed so golden,

 

and oh how they miss,

as they reminisce,

the strength that used to embolden.

 

They’ve been here before

to knock at the door

of the station attendant’s headquarters,

 

to hear it be said,

“We don’t take the dead.

It bothers the rest of our boarders.”

 

Still here they sit,

sharing a hit

from a bottle of liquid sensation,

 

and as they fall

the wine hits the wall,

offered in tainted libation.

 

God’s not been allowed

to relieve the fouled

so He waits in the shadows in sorrow,

 

and He stands at the door

of the station whose floor

is littered with the dead of tomorrow.

 

They’ll always remain

among the self-slain

as they resist Him with blind dedication,

 

For Lucifer taunts,

the fallen he haunts,

in his Kingdom of black desolation.

 

©2007 Sharon Gerlach

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

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 )

Google+ photo

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

Connecting to %s

Character-driven fiction. Because characters matter.

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 1,498 other followers