Raw piercing whistle promises places
Somber timeworn tracks demark possibilities,
thankful for the regularity of commerce
allowing timetables meaning.
Caged, awaiting indeterminate freedom.
Irony does not escape me.
I find comfort in harsh Revelations
babbled by a mad prophet through
shining eyed peasants and their Lords,
progressing through tribulations,
power games of strategy and blindness.
Land sold out from under pensioners,
children learning to live without a home.
Is this the Lord's Covenant?
Times, forms, enemies change.
The game goes on.
Bright golden Sun absorbs mist
a glorious dawn.
The smell of lonesome prairie after
the train's rushed through.
On this side of the bars,
life is slow