Train ride

Hundreds of love poems later, 

and beauty still ties my tongue 

into a tripwire my words stumble 

over. 

Some of them fall gracefully 

into a novel of romance and others 

die and reincarnate as regret too 

many times to count. 

My heart has been penning it for 

years now. Inside a castle of silence 

with a chariot of hope outside waiting 

on a princess to make my lap her royal 

throne. 

Just the other day I seen one, her 

skin was a pond of olive I could see 

my reflection in with a backdrop of sky 

that brought out the color in her eyes 

like the sun. 

Like...if she laid on a bed of desert sand 

she would disappear and disembody the 

motherland from her mothers land. 

Thats how arabian princess I imagine

her to be. But I could be wrong. 

She may be the type of girl that 

sees less than the blind man who 

sat next to her. 

If so, the irony in life is surely mind-boggling.