A room full of boxes

I travel only to depart
I leave behind my memory
no tears are left for me to shed
no pain inside for me to hide
no more bruises to explain

And ever on this journey goes
because I am not yet finished running
fleeing from a past which haunts
me every waking hour, every day
I must run on, I run away

There is a place somewhere
a place to make me whole again
and as I run I search for it
but like the happy days of distant past
I am Tantalus, and cannot reach

And all this time I am imprisoned
chained to fear and agony
unable to move on because
there is, somewhere far away,
a place where my life is stored;

My life in a room full of boxes.

~*~

Part 1 of the 3 Poèmes de la Gare Montparnasse poetry cycle.