I had this whole thought for a book. It would be a love story but more one about finding yourself and how love can be a catalyst, the vehicle (a “train”) for that very self discovery. Below is my brainstorming of this idea in the form of stanzas. To call it a poem or not? Ehh, who cares.
A haughty man, but smart.
He has it all figured out, he believes.
A condo in the city, a Porsche and the finer things.
This what he calls love.
A love of material possession.
It is a pity, for this love is only what he can see.
Yet, his heart has never felt another,
Their warmth, their touch, and the palpitation it brings.
He sees no need, for he is satisfied with all of these things.
She stumbles and falls on the train platform,
With no one around to help her recover.
It is no problem, for she has lived a life on her own.
Mrs. Independent, is not only the book title she carries.
She recomposed herself quickly, with only a scratch on the knee.
Her responsibility had always been far greater than her own.
In a home of four and a father,
She was the oldest of the bunch,
An irresponsible parent transformed this daughter into a mother.
Now she is grown and her days feel fulfilled,
Both her work days and weekends consist of the same,
Alone in her room she is satisfied,
Does not need anyone, she believes.
The love for her books and writings will do.
She questions what else could she need?
Is there more to love? What is to be learned from these two?