Spontaneous Works of an Endless Dreamer (Poetry)

Take the Next Train Headed to Infinity

In the station lies a train,
Takes people, free of charge,
To their destination,
Watch.
~
Always following the trails,
Leaning on the rails,
One can see the whole world,
From the very,
Cliffs below.
Where stars flicker,
flashing across sky,
The deep, dark night,
Lit up,
Just one spot,
Reflected in the water,
Down below.
An effervescent,
Iridescent,
Luminescent,
Glow.
~
See,
People rely upon this train,
To get to, and fro,
Taking them places,
No one knows.
Why do they wish to go further,
All this information,
They wish they knew,
Naturally, not shown.
But that wise train says nothing,
For no secrets, shall it reveal,
A vow, a promise,
Forged in steel.
Pain,
The only thing,
To know,
It's real.
~
In this lullaby,
Of sighs,
And seas,
Endless
Realities.
But the train,
It sees it all,
Thus that makes that,
It's greatest strength,
And downfall.
~
Whether it be
Faster,
Slower,
Speeds never will constantly last,
All other trains,
Zooming past,
In a lightning flash.
But this train goes by,
For there are roses to smell,
Stories to tell,
And memories,
Memories,
Of the seashells.
Why? You might ask...
All other trains,
Rising past,
For the plains
they rush to,
Hold nothing
more than here.
And never will you know,
Or never can one tell,
Just looking at.
~
Until one day,
It shall run out of gas.
As nothing worth having,
Ever lasts.
And it will wait,
But no one will come.
~
Then it does come.
That rain,
Ah,
Such pain.
Leading to rust.
The snow,
Icy breezes,
Endless pleading,
Endless pleases,
It's frigid, pallid breath
Freezes.
Those bolts,
He sneezes,
Lay across the ground,
In shambles.
The sunshine,
Beats away the paint,
With it's scorching heat.
Off it all falls,
In a sheet.
Pure
And utter,
Defeat.
~
As the appearance does change,
Waste away,
Day by day,
But never the inside.
For only there,
Can it possibly escape the lies,
The cries.
~
Closing it's eyes,
Not the first time,
Not the last,
It cries,
On the inside.
Only a conductor,
Working side by side,
Trying to get it well enough,
To ride.
Only they,
Can awake the train now.
But that faint hope,
That they'll come,
Is quite enough.
Alas,
And as it falls to pieces,
That poor train,
Nobody begins to realize,
The blood that is rained.
~
Granted,
The conductor comes along,
Eventually.
Careful
Taking note,
When cleaning up shards
of somebody else's
Tatters and shattered glass,
Not to step on left over pieces.
For looking into that water below,
The conductor realizes,
'Twas like a mirror,
Across the mirage,
Of azure.
The water.
For the water,
It shattered,
And tattered,
With every blow from every
Single,
Rain droplet.
Until that fear,
Was met.
By someone stronger,
Who can look past,
Not personally get attached.
He realizes,
the somber sight,
Staring into the night,
Taking off his cloak,
No longer needing to be hidden,
From the light.
Of the stars,
All the stars.
He realized,
He too would see them soon.
Fixing,
Mixing,
Memories,
Memories.
Forever they last,
As there is,
No taking back,
The past.
Memories,
Memories.
A seashell.
~
Though it all,
Fades with time,
The medleys,
The rhythm,
The beautiful rhymes.
One's inside,
Their heart,
Had never changed.
It's only mistake,
Was following the path,
In which the heart made.
For it beat string,
And would make do,
Wishing for the people,
It never knew.
And despite appearances
may judge,
Though oddly as it was.
It smiled,
Smiled,
That flower child.
But never felt that smile.
Smile,
But a smile,
To make everyone else happy,
But the train,
Itself,
Never was.
For the pain,
If never approached,
Would never die,
Needn't that train ever
say goodbye.
Rather it all
remained,
Just trapped.
Trapped.
Deep down.
On the inside.
Never,
ever,
Could it die.
That is,
For but one exception,
An often misconception.
A train only lasts,
As long as it's conductor is there,
To tend to it.
~
A million possibilities,
Can reach to infinity,
Or be like a cactus,
Trying to grow,
In bitter cold snow,
Until someone decides
to take it back to the sand,
The land,
Where it belongs.
Then we can only hope,
It will be soon enough.
~
For there's
Spirals,
Illusions,
In which
People never will see past,
And the seashells.
Always the seashells,
In the beach,
It was left,
Unkept,
Alone.
In the cold,
To grow old,
Alone.
Alone.
Now, as the train
Goes away,
He wishes for but one thing,
To remember,
To remain.
For always was tasked,
to simply ask.
But he rolls,
Through the cold,
And rolls through the heat.
But never,
Will it ever forget the sea,
The sea,
Or shells,
Of the sea,
Or the smell,
Of the sea,
Or the curls,
And the twirls,
Of the girls.
By the sea,
And what,
They meant,
And really
mean.
The sea,
The shells,
Or the memory.
Wishful thinking,
As it all wastes away,
Of what could have been,
Should have been,
In yesterday.
~
And in the end,
If you only pull the top
Of weed,
Never reaching the seed,
The roots of a problem.
Just delayed it,
For a while.
But it's bound,
To return.
For what reason?
That's for you
to discern,
You to learn.
But not the thinking of it,
Only delays,
But of you must,
Make sure part of you stays,
So you needn't get lost,
In yesterdays.
~
And as we all,
Look back at that train,
Think of the many places,
It's lain.
How it stays strong,
By appearance,
Though with each blow,
It wastes away.
And hope it will stay.
Because having been
All these places,
Seen all these many things,
As it knows well,
You can always flee.
But you can't escape it,
It now sees.
For you can't,
Escape,
Memories,
And regret,
Of what might,
Should have,
Could have,
And would
have been.
In the end,
All you can do now,
Is wonder,
about what you can't see,
Only hoping it to turn out
The way it's supposed,
To be.
~