Travelling On The Slow Train Poem by Andy Brookes

sitting with old vein hands slack in laps wandering the plains of existence
deep across the void that separates youth from age.
philosophical broken synapses, messages blocked by confusion.
prayerful mediation ora simple supplication

waiting, we keep in the alcove with the Virgin, Death.
she comforts, he waits ticking off the seconds, wethe penitent or not, are his unwillingsupplicants ready to disgorge ourselves into the unknown.

thefuture buries us in invention, rushes too fast for us, from a slower time, to grasp its complexities for it is a brave new world.

coming from a time more nuanced, the rush and short sound bites confuse.
so I'll travel by the slow train, not the express, because in the end our destination is the same, now there's a thought.