Semantics of a Curious Mind

The things we hold onto—
A tourniquet for our lofty desires and broken dreams.
Leaving is a gesture intermixed with
abandonment and sheer excitement.

It all depends on the moments of time you have been given.

An almost empty boxcar with a rugged army backpack,
a lawnmower, and a handful of old things
lying aimlessly for your taking.

It reminds you of the rudderless life you have embarked on.

Some things are tokens of what you could have been.
Or a glimpse of the glimmering future
in your now bleary ashen eyes.

You always brush the last remnant of separation
as the teardrop makes a wet trail on your cheeks
Before you catch the last glimpse of his face
before the door closes,
and leaves you numb for a moment.

The moment of utter desperation
and desire comes to a halt
as you eye the lawnmower

The semantics of the curious mind
takes you into the fresh-cut green lawn
where the dew drops fleetingly touches
the base of your thick cracked heels

The sun's apricity kissing the nape of your neck,
your ears filled with the laughter
of those you love.
A moment of solace and beauty
overcomes the ashen moment.

And you walk towards the platform,
waiting for the train to return.