The track seems to stretch the limits of sky;
The well-timed cacophony's treble shrieks,
The calliope's elusive energy releasing
Arcing over wooden planks, invisibly.
Touching locking bars, ancient charm for safety,
Gaining speed, rising, weaving through rails-
Strong down forces, flashing strobes, distant sails-
And high above, sun gashed in wavy chain-mail.
One last lifting chug- Up! near to the highways,
Cars filling exits, shiny metal, flowing crowds.
Heat swells the road, with ghastly fumes prevailing;
The outer world fun-house, for the less-enthralled.
Now back on earth; ticket's thrown, soles to concrete,
Mixed odors, food and garbage, then finding more thrills.
On long summer days, camera bulbs to remind us
The ephemeral nature, of what we would feel.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem