Melancholy Home

 

The whistle blows, another crossing past,

Rolling ever closer, to destination last.

Rolling ever closer, rocking back and forth,

Waiting for arrival at 7th and 34th.

Stepping on the platform, people rushing by,

Family and loved ones embrace, some even cry.

Once upon the city streets, my feet begin to roam,

Without much thought of direction, in my melancholy home.

 

The streets look all the same to me, dirty and worn,

Congested city streets, with cabbies honking horns.

I sit and watch the people, quickly walking by,

Eyes transfixed on pavement, never noticing the sky.

A random chance at eye contact, I quickly give a nod,

Contact quickly broken, his expression says "you're odd".

I look beyond the people, into my private gloam,

Retreating ever deeper, in my melancholy home.

 

I take the subway downtown, on board the number nine,

Consumed within my thoughts, I reach the end of the line.

Large crowds are milling, throughout Battery Park,

Waiting for the ferry and their chance to embark.

To visit lady liberty which the French did bequeath,

And read her words of inspiration, inscribed beneath.

I set my sights farther, beyond the metal and chrome,

Across the bay I long to be, in my melancholy home.

 

The bridges vast expanse, lay before my eyes.

For a chance to touch the past, my soul inwardly cries.

Within the city limits, laying beneath the earth,

Is the missing puzzle piece, which consummated birth.

Facts revealing identity, have all fallen through,

Secrets and lies compounded, leave not the slightest clue.

How awful is the truth, perhaps an incestual chromosome,

I just can't help but wonder, in my melancholy home.

 

Allowing one last look back, I turn and walk away.

Never getting closer, feeling empty and dismayed.

While riding on the subway, uptown on the one,

I sat pondering intently, what more I could have done.

Without an answer pending, I went looking for a pint,

Ending up in a little pub near 8th and 59th.

The bartender pours a draft, I sip it through the foam.

And vow to someday solve the mystery of my melancholy home.

 

The whistle blows, it is now time to depart,

As the train begins to move, I feel sadness in my heart.

Deeds left undone, words never said,

Endless possibilities running through my head.

Rolling ever farther, the train is changing track.

As the skyline begins to fade, I allow one last look back.

The puzzle incomplete, still unable to go home,

I must content myself, for now, in my melancholy home.