Metaphor.
Graffiti decorates the train cars
like messages from an angry and incoherent God.
The rusty tracks speak in tongues.
The secularity of the railroad bed,
hymns sung by an atheist.
A chain link fence,
like the boundary between life and death.
The open door of the car,
a portal to hell.
The unstoked fires of the engine
like an abandoned church.
The train yard, like a graveyard.
A bum staggers to the train
as if a defrocked priest.
And the faded schedule hangs in the caboose,
a prayer unanswered.
July 12, 2007
© 2007 Anne Westlund
Poetry by Anne Westlund
Read 594 times
Written on 2007-07-13 at 00:35
Save as a bookmark (requires login)
Write a comment (requires login)
Send as email (requires login)
Print text
Last Train
Graffiti decorates the train cars
like messages from an angry and incoherent God.
The rusty tracks speak in tongues.
The secularity of the railroad bed,
hymns sung by an atheist.
A chain link fence,
like the boundary between life and death.
The open door of the car,
a portal to hell.
The unstoked fires of the engine
like an abandoned church.
The train yard, like a graveyard.
A bum staggers to the train
as if a defrocked priest.
And the faded schedule hangs in the caboose,
a prayer unanswered.
July 12, 2007
© 2007 Anne Westlund
Poetry by Anne Westlund
Read 594 times
Written on 2007-07-13 at 00:35
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
