Parallel
Every parallel line meets at the eternity.
Their figures rise from the fog,
From the end of the lines,
From the point of return to difference.
They are conversing in a deep loquacity
A dry spray of dust in the air.
The infinite rolls of rails are mourning.
They wait to end their talk and depart
To oblivion.
The talk lingers like the patient cat
In search of its home-alley.
The friends do not know any home!
Home, abode, asylum....
Sky begins to drop,
Softly and pliant like an inducing death.
The take
The easy shelter of philosophical talks.
And, of course they beg to differ.
From the distance
They may look the meeting point.
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Comments: 6
What do you think?
though I wonder, do I see people there talking, or the rails? WHOSE figures rise from the fog; you say "their," but perhaps "some" is better?
I like the image of the parallel lines that only APPEAR to meet in the distance. Yes, people are often the same.
Things to edit: I agree with Jan, there is a problem with grammar; also, I believe you mean to say "they take," not "the take."