Some of us are old trains
Perceived as past our usefulness
Ignore the involuntary metallic screams
As we slowly move from here to there
Clothed in rust and graffiti
Our purpose now to be vandalized
And maybe a temporary home for vagrants
And so we roll along
Until we are decommissioned
And ripped apart for scrap
About the Creator
Aaron Morrison
Mad Lib it:
Born during a (___natural disaster___), Aaron spends his free time exploring (___unusual location (plural) ___) and raising domesticated (___fictional creature (plural)___).
Author of Miscellany Farrago
insta: @theaaronmorrison
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More stories from Aaron Morrison and writers in Poets and other communities.
A Love Forboding
The chipped stone slope caused unbearable footing. I slid, skirting on my heels. I cast my shield, relinquishing my guard to stay upright. Left with my double-edge and a prayer to the maker, I skated toward my objective. The earthly stubble gave way to solid ground. I found myself restored, a trail of dust in my wake.
By James U. Rizzi4 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
Beautiful metaphor!😍