Flight

I await my vessel,
The one that will take me,
To you.

Waiting patiently,
Writing soothing words,
To calm the flight in my stomach.

Here we go.

And Again?

Again, I seem to be in a creative mood. Perhaps it's distance, time, or the Forum of the Banned.
But, more poetry it is.

The music resonates around the room,
The fire the only source of light.
I sit in the dark warmth,
And count down the days.

Time flows slowly, sluggishly,
Mocking my wait.

My mind skips forward,
To the day I see you again.
The impatience leaves,
Replaced by an excitement,
A happiness previously unknown to me.
Disbelief in my luck astounds me.
A grin spreads across my face.

The figurative pen flows across paper,
Literal fingers flying across the keyboard.
I put into words my emotion,
My feeling,
My thought.
This is how I pass the time without you;
By writing for you.
All for you,
And only for you.

There it is. Not as good as the last, perhaps.
There may be more later tonight.

Otira

Deep in the Southern Alps lies a town that is now nearly empty. The sections, once filled with houses, are now empty, only concrete blocks remaining.
Some of the few houses there have smoke leaving their chimneys; the only sign of life. The others are seemingly empty. All the houses are as derelict as the next, inhabited or not.
The local hotel is 'bustling'. Both its fires are lit.
People in this town are lucky to get 2 hours of sunlight a day. And yet, this town is situated directly on the coast to coast train line. The trains occasionally make brief stops, simply for assistance through the nearby tunnel; the third longest in New Zealand.
This town is a ghost town. The tunnel is the most well known part of it.
And here, it ends.
To be continued.

True story, bro.