Last

So close now
I can almost touch
What's waiting there for me
I want it oh so much

Watch to reach out and grab it
With both hands
Anyone that feels this way
Certainly understands

The time, the trouble
Logistical hell
Hours of waiting
Makes me want to yell
At myself, more than anything
Stupid stupid act
Who'd have thought
It could have so much impact

Two seventy five
Has trickled away
Each morning and evening
Melt in to another nameless day

Two seventy five
I've hated you so
The restrictions, the constraint
Left me no room to grow

The time, the trouble
Is now almost past
This poem from the train
May well be my last
Can't wait to blow the cobwebs
Away with a blast
And smile to myself saying
At last, at last