Thirty Nine At Station Train
A body lies so mysteriously on the hardwood floor,
The clock strikes backwards from three, to noon, to ten.
Her hand reaches back into her lock box beside the door,
Pulls a letter out and scribbles "God wounds my mend."
For this story is like no other, it begins at the end.
Rising from the floor she sits back down on a chair,
Her tears stream upwards as she ponders "be this could how?"
The bullet escapes her wound as she gasps from the tear,
Back into the chamber which it set free and now
She collapses out of breath, with sweat on her brow.
Through the front door, as she slams it closed,
Re attaching a locket that was torn at the chain.
With tremendous anger, as only her sadness now exposed,
Her steps carried her to the place of her pain,
As the leaves upwards fell again in the rain.
A pale look on her face, as he turned back he cried,
His lips quiver as he tells her "now end to has this."
Her cheeks regain a rosy hue with her arms open wide,
As she greeted him he avoided leaning in for a kiss,
She vanished into the distance gazing at the time on her wrist.
All her bags thrown at her, she re-boards the plane,
In her seat she reads the message on her phone.
It was from her lover, "thirty-nine at station train",
She wondered what would happen, something in his tone,
And if she were left, once again, by herself...all alone.
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