Getting Home

[peachforhours]

My converse damp and leather soaked,

I breathe heavily from running.

The people all around me cloaked,

Before the storm that’s always coming.

The seating offers little warmth,

Despite the heater dead below,

The grotty patterned fabric’s worn,

Disgruntled clockwork’s all on show.

It must’ve been around the place,

And wandered all the dusty

Comments

[callumsy]

I like this a lot more than your previous poems.
:)

[peachforhours]

Probably 'cause it ryhmes :P

I wrote it on my mobile on the way back from London.

[callumsy]

I'm a simple chap :P