It was if I was transported back to my past
looking at the railway building.
You can sense the ghosts of a bygone age
when travelling was fun.
Clicking of wheels on the metal track
brings such happy memories back.

Through the Severn valley it chugged along
young and old enjoying the relaxing pace
Very romantic with the nostalgia of steam
passing stations as they use to be.
Signal boxes with all their manual levers
makes even sceptics believers.

Within thy minds eye nature engulfs you
on the train life is green not blue.

The Foureyed Poet

The excitement built as I approached the station
you could smell the smoke from the engine.
Before you entered the stations enticing doors
you could see the shunter's in the sidings.
Black smoke and steam rising blending into one
the joy of the impending journey had begun.

Our memories are often all we have left
of the days we were young as age creeps on.
Bad thoughts fade as you only think of the good
steam trains dominated when I was a lad.
Boys then all wanted to be the driver of the train
in the early days of Elizabeth's reign.

Far less roads and motor vehicles to pollute
the countryside was ****** more rural.
An era when trains had more lines to travel
a pleasure for everybody to go roving.
A special treat to get people to the coast
an adventure not something to boast.

Looking at the chaos around us now
my young days were glorious.
Before the innocence was drained in the ether
simplicity the key to sanity.
A day train spotting was the weekend treat
then was very hard to beat.

The holiday to the Isle Of Wight by steam train
then across on the ferry I remember.
When my special mother was there very much alive
the past is the past now my memory.
Unique I learned I am not, millions feel the same
staring at a faded picture in an old frame.

Rekindles that long gone excitement.

The Foureyed Poet.

The road to nowhere is a lonely trek
where more find their journey leads.
Despair often nobody really cares
left to fend for their lives.
Predators lurk ready to pounce
no mercy not even an ounce.

A mine field for the innocent
the alert stand a chance.
Their families there to give support
for many nobody is at hand.
Exploitation the punters approach
as the evil rapidly encroach!

Stories of young lives destroyed
are heart wrenching news reports.
Bodies being found talk of a serial killer
with the physical degradation.
Corrupting the thoughts of the population
as daily it's the topic of conversation.

When these monsters have children
still coldly ending young life spans.
Denying them of any hope of a future
the love they could have shared.
Leaving empty pages in mans history
can only remain a mystery!

Man will always be a savage creature
callous in his detachment of emotion!
Not everyone is part of this dark feature
on that road to nowhere!

The Foureyed Poet.

The word divorce has endless meanings
many couples part without malice.
Mutually agreeing to separate lives
property and thoughts divided.
Staying friends others enemies for life
regretting ever being man and wife!

Yet when children are in the equation
trouble really begins to build.
Each wanting the children with them
being a close part of their situation.
Courts and high costs are in the play
their wishes ignored anyway.

For years the arguments can rage
with untold damage done.
Selfishness of the individuals own thoughts
cloud the sensible approach.
But these are times of heightened tension
each are careful what they mention.

As the costs get tighter legal aid restricted
common sense needs to prevail.
But those who can afford to battle on regardless
the self indulgence of material wealth.
And haggling over their children's well being
creating future problems I'm foreseeing!

Do We Not Create Our Own Misfortunes?

The Foureyed Poet.

Have you ever sat on a bench alone
when all you can utter is a grown?
At rock bottom thinking negative
not really wanting to live!
Problems insurmountable no money
nothing in life you find funny.

Can't be bothered to wash or shave
knowing you have become knave.
Not to others in crime but to yourself
your being left on a dusty shelf.
Every thought is nearer to despair
others around you're not aware!

Wallowing in self pity I've been there
eyes glazed you just stare.
A day seems an eternity without hope
pills or hang by the rope!
I did overcome those dark ages
filled with silent rages!

I had to find the strength and seek
ask for help learn not to be weak.
But some can't face the demons inside
no matter how hard they tried.
Deeper into themselves they travel
to complicated to unravel!

I can only hope your answer will be found.

The Foureyed Poet.

I could see you holding my hand
tears fell on my cold skin.
How hard to see your mourning
over the body I lived in.
Even in death love never ended
this moment could not be mended.

Your despair and emptiness was clear
no pain or fear bothered me now.
I wanted to hold you like we use to
at my funeral the family looked sad
Wanting to shout out I'm here
there was no fear.

You scattered my ashes so gently
with an expression of peace.
Still the tears filled those blue eyes
without regret I had to leave.
In you I will always believe
knowing you were able to grieve.

Into the light I go with ease.

Now I wait For you.

The Foureyed Poet.

Despair is never far from the minds of many
in a society that revolves around money.
Nobody is immune from feeling deeply low
when nothing can brighten your day.
Desperation drives more of us to gamble
hoping for that win onward we ramble.

Competitions and the lottery we play
spending our few resources on hope.
There are those they say the lucky ones
who do win but some can't cope.
Pressures abound as costs keep rising
more end their lives it's not surprising.

When you hear of another big winner
it's hard not to envy their fortune.
knowing how many entries you made
despair is often overwhelming.
But it's a vicious cycle a hollow dream
as people pursue to the extreme.

Spending their lives in perpetual torment
trying to win the big money.
Which becomes an obsession in their family.
in which nothing else matters.
And misery is all that they remember
to each and every family member.

Wealth surely goes beyond material gain
despair has no boundaries of pain!

The Foureyed Poet.