Midnight:
The moon plays with his vision.
The Rebel, his mind wearied from anger,
Holds his emotion bottled within him.
Katie appears, coming out of the shadows.
The sight of her repulses him,
Her face caked with makeup,
Prepared for a party, as always.
Inside, he scorns her,
Addicted to a drugged life,
Temporal pleasures.
But she is tied to him, now.
She cannot go back.
The cold wind howls down the street.
Rebel and Katie huddle
In the warmth of the bus stop.
The bus rumbles to a stop,
The doors slide hesitantly open.
-The future awaits.-
The bus whisks them
To the train station,
And their new world.
The Rebel has a lot on his mind:
He sits, silent,
A thousand thoughts rolling in his head.
At his side, seated by the window,
Katie rests her head on his shoulder.
She is cold, shivering;
But he shrugs her off:
There is no warmth in him,
For he is driven by the cold.
Dejected, she leans against the cool window.
In her mind,
She is suddenly alone, afraid;
He cannot see it,
But he has hurt her.
-The first, but not the last.-
James Grengs
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/prodigal-part-3-station/
