like any other intersection,
draws us on to, the vortex of the vectors
that dart back and forth across
the tracks
hypnotized by the velocity
of speeding objects,
determined to reach a point
before the other,
if unattended collide in space,
death and destruction
become the matrix,
of tragedy
on reflection,
railroad crossings can be romantic
not like any other, swirling smoke,
clickty clack, blowing whistles
the choo choo train of yesteryear
mesmerized, with the long line of cars
snaking their way over the countryside,
it's magnetism drew us on,
today there is no story train,
only a cruel speeding express of electricity,
steam has disappeared and
the spirling smokescreen gone,
speeding down the tracks
oblivious of the crossings
flies by
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I have to say this is very good, and I do have to totally agree with you... Too fast and forward I say.... I especially enjoyed the clickity clack, , , , there is something so tranquil about watching or listening to a distant train..... I guess it is the wonder, of where its destiination was, or is? ? Bonnie