On the Train to Brooklyn.
It was on the train that he appeared.
Pallid, young, and he removed his hat
and gloves…and silent sat….. ethereal eyes
dulled into quiet reverie.
Beyond the window pane
Kaleidoscopes of time
and large thematic skies
loom over civic madness,
and all go melting by.
The reek …the stench,
polluted cities near to death.
The steely rhythm of the track,
recalls a by-gone kinesis…
Her unexpected accident, and
He remembers this.
We’re on our way to Green-Wood,
where his loved one lies.
She died, flung from her carriage
in 1845…
His love for Charlotte deeply engraved
upon his long stilled heart.
The Carra Marble sepulchre
entombs poor Charlotte’s soul..
Cold marble roses wrap around
Her monumental tomb,
And down-turned torches signify,
Her long departed zing.
This young man’s suicide,
so he might lie near to his would be bride…
finds him in death…not by her side,
but banished to a modest grave,
in forlorn unconsecrated ground.
The train pulls into Brooklyn
And I am alone…
The carriage is now empty…
Everyone has gone.
And gathering up his gloves and hat…
The young man’s ghost has flown.
KB…Sept/Oct 2018