Driven by the same desires
Trying to outdo time
Dying to achieve the bounty
Racing through the tracks
Rash driving, causing crashes
Simple desires, not simple anymore
Indifferences and lack of emotions
Relationships drifting away
Melting like the glaciers
Submerging in the icy cold waters
Human bonding seems to be fragile
Ragged threads giving away to the weight
Everyone fighting a battle within
Imaginary demons slaying the soul
If only we could salvage the remaining
Not being in the race against time
Taking a path which suits us
For we are destined to a certain amount
Not more, not less; enough to balance
Our life is precious, join the adventure
But not the adventure to outdo fate
Desire to live, without the external pressures
Taking out time to love enough
For love is never enough, no matter how much we share

After Henry Taylor*

On a peaceful night just as the stars had
risen and the chilled dew was beginning
to form on the grass, a set of steel tracks
resting atop an ordinary hill
began to hum with warm vibrations as

a steam-powered engine came towards them,  
pulling along an assortment of goods,
it came fast and came loud, breaking all of
the solitude by the hill, but perhaps
it was going too fast or maybe the
tracks were a little wet or it may be
that the train simply wanted to jump, but

just as it reached the turn atop the hill,
it leaned off its path and like a rubber
band; the rest followed, throwing to the air
everything held inside, tumbling down
the hill, splashing through the water droplets

until finally coming to a rest
at the bottom, where splintered lumber and
distorted steel had torn up earth to show
a mound of fresh dirt, riddled with gravel
and twigs, the hill became quiet once more,
just as the train whispered its final gasp
and the dew began to form on its wheels.

There is something so grounding about the rumbling of a train going by,
   And then the soothing, settling of the surroundings as it runs off into a whisper, escaping the reaches of your eye.
I sigh.
   Another train, in opposite direction sliding by.
   I see in it the line drawing my potential demise and simultaneously untangling my turmoil inside.
I am fried.
I am fine.
   I am so drawn to these tracks where the machine-cars glide,
   A deep-seated need to witness
Their Force, their Direction, to Feel Alive.

Sitting at the station, smoke fills my lungs and drifts away like memories of you.
Waiting for the train to peak around the never ending bend of tracks, I wait for not just a train but an escape.
I wait and wait until the rise of the moon.
I have places to go and plans to make.
One step at a time, isn't that how the saying goes?
I couldn't tell you, my steps are never going anywhere, it seems.
I wait for signs of trains and I wait to see the steam.
The big iron black, as black as the night you left.
Now I'm leaving too.
I look across the tracks and see inside a dinner.
The couples drinking coffee look nice, but baby, we were finner.
All that is behind me now, like the train tracks that are spit out as the train bustles me anywhere, everywhere, hopefully away from myself.
At least I'm leaving you, my dear, I'll pretend I was never left.
I await this train, it's down the track, you'll never stop me now.
I climb aboard, the engine roars and the conductor blows the whistle.
I flick that cigarette aside.
Never coming back.