To Listen to Music While Reading this Poem, just Click Here!
Click Here To add this poem to your "Voting Possibilities" list!
Praha Black lettered signs fly by etched with names I cannot pronounce. The gentle back and forth rocking which previously lulled me to sleep, a child in its mother's arms, slows and then utterly stops. A monotone voice states in a language unfamiliar what I had already realized: I have arrived. I am compelled to whisper the trite phrase: It is beautiful. The bitterly cold wind rushes into my nose, batters my cheeks to a pinkish glow. The air smells of winter, though fall has only just begun, reminding me that snow here is not an anomaly, a news story, but merely a feature of everyday life. Now the leaves turn, tomorrow they shall fall, and soon a white blanket will lie upon the land, obliterating the exclamations of the ignorant. |
Additional Notes:
This is a train ride to Prague, Czechoslovakia.
Sorry, there are no critiques for this poem in our system... If the poem is older, the critiques have been purged!