Quiet Desperation

3 Comments

Quiet Desperation

Quiet Desperation

 

 

While walking down the aisle

of the Long Island Railroad Train

going to the Big Apple for the day,

sitting there straight-backed,

upright in his grey flannel suit

and close corporate haircut,

looking so business-like,

an old happy-go-lucky kid

I used to run and laugh with

years back in high school.

I could tell he wanted to talk

so I just sat back and listened…

He got his boy and a girl,

who drive him crazy spending

his whole life trying to fulfill

all of their wishes and wants,

his wife even worse…

Work keeps him busy, but

brings him no pleasure;

the best time of his day

are the two hours he rides alone

on this train, twice a day

he gets away from it all.

His spirit of boyish tomfoolery

gone, long gone, as I listened

he never looked me in my eyes,

but I could see the blank stare

starring at the seat in front of him;

there was no light to be seen

in those bright blue eyes

that the girls always loved

years back in high school,

now just a smoldering fire that at

any moment could explode,

even worse, extinguish itself;

a heart attack hoping to happen.

When we pulled into Penn Station,

we shook hands goodbye.

I watched him grow smaller

and smaller as we went our

separate ways at the end of the line.     

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Insideme commented on Quiet Desperation

02-05-2010

You've outdone yourself on this piece, the end of the Native peoples ways , brought on by the white man is his own slow suicide and loss of spirit. You are beautiful man.

knight4696 commented on Quiet Desperation

02-04-2010

Charls .. another great short story .. This drips with regret ... Poor son of a bitch - must feel trapped in hell. I've felt this before and understand his thoughts. Life has a funny way of happening and dampening the fires of youth. Very nicely conveyed! Great Job! :) Ken

Teardrops commented on Quiet Desperation

02-04-2010

It is our lot in life to make our lives what we want them to be not what others want great poem Marie

The true philosopher and the true poet are one, and a beauty, which is truth, and a truth, which is beauty, is the aim of both.

Ralph Waldo Emerson, American Poet (1803-1882)

charles52’s Poems (52)

Title Comments
Title Comments
Hunter gets Hunted 4
The Gift of Fine China 3
Enemies Everywhere 1
The Lost Boys 4
Exterminate to extinction 2
All day in the desert 2
The Synchronicity of Deja vu 3
The Black Hole 4
Lesson not learned 2
Juggernaut 2
The Legacy 2
The Sun Dance 1
The Earthquake 2
Refueling 1
Detroit 1
A Recipe for Absolute Power 2
Proud of Place 2
Omega 2
At the Gates of Hell 3
Wildfire 3
Liberated 2
Quiet Desperation 3
Tailgating 2
Playing Hooky 1
The Awakening 1
The Empty Man 3
A Moment in Time 2
Chief Satanta 2
Thunderbolt 2
My CD Player 1
Taking Flight 4
Retreating 1
Crazy Horse 2
Pizza in the Afternoon 2
Moonchild 2
Sitting Bull 2
Shattered 3
Of the old ways 3
Our Hurricane 4
The Ritual Dance 2
Her Garden 2
Living as Driftwood 1
The Dancing Flame 2
In Another's Shoes 3
Chief Joseph 3
Life is Fleeting 2
Geronimo 2
The Dead have no say 1
Finger Exercises 2
Effects of Films Noir 2
Proud Possessions 2
Frustrating Fast 2