The Train Part One Poem by Paul Larmour

a long distance train
is running through my brain
its destination is despair
depressions at the wheel
taking control of how i feel
and the passengers theyre unaware

theres love whos got a date
but hes running late
shes sits alone at the dining car table
shes getting hassle from hate
but hes just trying to relate
trying to be patient but shes not able

and jupiter hes spoiling for a fight
picking on nonchalant but he aint gonna bite
jupiter starts boring holes in the wood with his knife
he looks around the train
to see if anyone will complain
but theyre all getting on with life

theres fate dealing out memories two tables down
to pride who wears the face of a clown
but the pot its not worth it, its too small
fates got the upper hand
he knows what cards going to land
and pride he aint going to take the fall

selfishness he can be heard across the room
laughing like some huge baboon
wedged in a seat beside his friend greed
his belly overhangs his knees
his face is bloated and shines with grease
his eyes are keen and full of need


stupidity hes beating up pity by the kitchen door
pity is lying there yelling out for more
stupidity obliges with a grin
pity squims in pleasure with every hit
but stupidity gives up its making him sick
and leaves him in his orginal sin

lying on the baggage rack
with a tattooed horseshoe on his back
sleeps luck hes been in a coma for 20 years
while all hopes chances have been cheated
and all his dreams have been defeated
he sleeps while hope counts the tears

dancing up and down the aisles
goes happiness with his bag of smiles
wearing a small ruff of clouds around his neck
sowing smiles all around
but most land upside down on stony ground
or on suspicions prickly back

by the fire exit door with the face of peter lorre
is fear shaking and repeating i'm sorry, i'm sorry
covered from head to foot in the armour thats tear-rusted
while vengeance pokes him with an electric prod
repeating hes the god, hes the god
wrapped in his national dress all blood encrusted

snogging by a moth eaten shade
drinking teenage crush and cherryade
is innocence with lust who wants as usual to go to far
lust hisses 'you can trust me baby'
innocence squeaks 'i dont know, ok, maybe'
and they disappear to the sleeping car

theres a gang down the corridor
they have some stash they are going to score
its loneliness, misery, sadness and pain
with flashing needles theyre gonna take the flight
playing country music through the night
but in the morning they lose their gain